


Imperium

by Audrey_W



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Collars, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Armitage Hux, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, First Order Politics (Star Wars), Glove Kink, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Intrigue, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Body Play, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Telepathic Sex, Threesome, Throne Sex, Undercover Missions, Voyeurism, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 107,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey_W/pseuds/Audrey_W
Summary: Starkiller turned to stardust and General Armitage Hux is desperate to regain favor. The Resistance is on the run, but a remnant escaped and the First Order needs more resources. Hux will do anything to acquire them, including negotiate with a network of the galaxy's most notorious criminals, all while keeping tabs on his unpredictable rival.Looking for leverage, the Resistance seeds a spy high within enemy ranks. The mission: pose as an interpreter to the most infamous General in the galaxy and report his movements. It’s their last hope, but the First Order is a labyrinth of lies and allegiance looks like betrayal when its two most powerful men push her further than she was ever prepared to go.Chapter 25: An alliance of sorts. Very E.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s), Armitage Hux/Original Character(s), Armitage Hux/Original Female Character(s), Armitage Hux/Reader, Armitage Hux/You, Kylo Ren/Original Female Character(s), Kylux-lite - Relationship, Poe Dameron/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 212
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Hux meets with Snoke to inform him of his mission. Our spy bids her farewells.
> 
> I should note that while this isn’t a literal reader-insert, OC is fairly nondescript and can be used as a proxy for reader. This was done to facilitate smooth transitions between differing POVs without having to completely change tenses—hope this isn’t a deterrent!

I.

Tiny hairs rose on the General’s neck just above his uniform collar where a milky stripe no wider than a finger laid bare to Snoke’s bitter cold audience chamber. The only inch of him exposed sent a shiver beneath his freshly pressed uniform, coursing down his spine and ending at the tip of his boots. Snoke’s chambers never emitted warmth but somehow it felt much colder than usual. Hux’s suspicions were confirmed as he reached the center dias, breath billowing out in heated puffs as he ascended them. 

The General stood impossibly still, save his leather-clad thumbs absent-mindedly rubbing together at the small of his back, the tiny motion carefully hidden by his preferred posture. Not that anyone bore witness to it anyway. The Supreme Leader rarely invited others to his personal audiences, save the occasional Commander Ren. Instead, rows of empty chairs lined long curved tables facing Snoke’s throne, much like the auditoriums of Hux’s short-lived academy days. 

The walls towered above him, climbing so high, rendering the ceiling a shadowy pit, reducing the most powerful General in the First Order to little more than an insect in an empty hive. Small sconces lined the walls, their light so weak they illuminated so little in the vast dark. 

Hux was not afraid of the dark, just the creature living within it. The creature living in _his_ dark.

Supreme Leader Snoke never requested an audience without first making him wait. This fact did not escape Hux. It was a tactic employed personally to great effect when necessary, despite his penchant for punctuality. For nothing aroused trepidation, the kind that eats away at the very thin veneer of sanity, like a well-timed entrance. It was something Ren would do well to remember rather than stomping and screaming and ripping apart everything around him like a supernova.

But Hux knew better and had learned from the best. It wasn’t bare-faced rage that kept the masses cowed, but the enigmatic nature of a mystery. A man’s mind is his own worst enemy, so why waste effort on conjuring the right words, the exact tone, engineered to elicit fear, when inscrutable silence and the shadow of a man will achieve what the most severe missive could not?

Currently, Hux himself had much to fear. Ren allowed the girl to slip through their fingers. The resistance no doubt made contact with Skywalker and his own situation grew more dire by the day.

His raucous mind quieted at the flickering blue light, thoughts neatly folding themselves away in anticipation. Mind probes were Snoke’s calling card.

The first time it happened, the General was no more than a child. Scrawny, trembling and wholly unprepared for the razor blades fissuring his skull, raking up pain with surgical precision and reckless abandon. The images came to him now, unbidden, as he waited in the dark. Sneering, light blue eyes like his own. A quiet room. A kind smile. An admiral’s impeccable uniform, creased in all the right places. A white cape swirling around her. The Imperator and the Outcast curled in his tiny hand. All memories of a boy, weak-willed and paper thin. His delicate, peaky features swept away on the whistling dunes of Jakku. 

Ironically, that godforsaken wasteland—the one he was so desperate to forget—served as safe harbor for Snoke’s Force probes. He always imagined its sun-bleached surface, sand as far as the eye can see with nothing in between. It was both personal hell and burial ground for his intimate thoughts, submerged a million miles down in a past life no one could reach.

In the years following, he learned thought suppression. Testing and building up his tolerance, slowly over time like a well-oiled machine until his subtle projections and thoughts, the ones ready-made for Snoke, proved imperceptible in their authenticity. He did not seek to openly deceive the Supreme Leader, but like everyone to Hux, he knew better than to blindly trust him.

The General’s gaze rose to the now-occupied throne, enormous and austere in construction, it seated the Supreme Leader’s uniformly enormous hologram. Despite Snoke’s virtual hand equally sized to the General’s entire body, Hux much preferred him this way. No matter how mangled that pock-marked face appeared, the one barely containing two eye sockets, brow melting like heated wax and magnified to monstrous proportions, the mere projection of it much improved reality. He did not envy Ren one bit.

“General.” His gravelly voice echoed around the chamber, grating Hux’s ears similarly to the claws ravaging his mind. He forced himself to relax, settling into the groove of those talons, his mind’s surface allowing them purchase. Resistance invited pain. 

“I sense your burden.”

Had the words come from any other lipless slit, Hux would have snorted in derision. _Burden_ was one way to describe it. Burden was the obliteration of a super weapon a decade in the making. Burden was the loss of twenty-five percent of his troops, vast resources and least among them, his personal pride. Burden barely scratched the surface. 

“You have proved faithful in returning my apprentice to me. And though your sacrifices significant, trust that your labors will be rewarded in due time.”

Even in near darkness, Snoke recognized the General’s puzzled brow, or perhaps felt his whirring mind, vibrating with effort to interpret the cryptic declaration. Hux was too intelligent, or perhaps too skeptical, to accept compliments at face value, especially as Starkiller’s ominous shadow lingered over him yet.

“You question the weapon’s success?”

“I only lament its fleeting utility,” the General replied, careful as always in his articulation. 

“Its purpose was realized,” Snoke countered. “The New Republic is little more than rubble.”

“The Republic—yes, but the Resistance…” The communique that crossed his desk not but an hour ago flitted through his hidden thoughts. _Urgent._ From the head of the First Order Security Bureau. If recent intelligence was to be believed, the Resistance was far from rubble. _Very far_.

“I fear Starkiller has only emboldened them,” Hux admitted, cursing the words as they launched from his lips.

“Then I trust you to deal with them accordingly.”

“Yes,” he replied a beat too quickly. “I’m devising a strategy as we speak.”

If he was honest, it was more calculated risk than strategy, but much had changed and Hux just hoped whatever cruel Maker controlled his fate similarly compelled Snoke not to inquire further. 

Leader Snoke’s heavy lids fell and withered lips twisted, as if considering whether it beneath him to bother with the details. Hux breathed sharply, the clasps of his perfectly-tailored uniform straining ever so slightly, jaw tense with a response at the ready.

”I’m sure of it. But that is not the reason I’ve summoned you.”

The General’s shoulders sagged, if only fractionally, in relief.

“What of our current resources?” 

“Depleted. But I shall oversee the recovery effort.” He took a breath, the exhale more of a sigh. ”... _personally_.” 

It was disgusting. A General of the First Order traipsing the Outer Rim like a common errand boy. But this was his penance and he best volunteer for it than allow Snoke a choice.

“I depart for Nal Hutta in two cycles time to negotiate the most immediate needs.” 

“And why the delay?”

“I need an interpreter for these primitive languages and it appears the only speakers exist in forgotten corners of the galaxy. Luckily, Colonel Le Hivre has a lead from his backwater planet and has volunteered to retrieve her.”

“A droid won’t suffice?” Snoke inquired keenly.

“I am loathe to repeat another _Nal Rakka incident_ , especially in present circumstances,” Hux replied coolly, “And besides, what weakness is greater for a Hutt than a human female?” 

Snoke smiled a crooked grin, the mountainous range of teeth jutting from his withered gums. It made Hux appreciate his typical glower. 

“And the rebel base?”

“Canady is combing the planet we tracked them to this very moment. He’s under strict orders to summon me if they detect rebel movements.” 

Leader Snoke’s spindly fingers, gnarled like twisted roots, curled under his chin thoughtfully as he leaned closer to his servant, black eyes shining in the dim light.

“Excellent.”

**. . .**

The Lambda shuttle, a great hulking scrap of metal, tattooed in carbon scoring and scorch marks in service to the Galactic Empire, the Republic before it and the Old Republic before that, gave a violent lurch.

Its only passenger, a woman dressed in plain clothes, lurched with it, jolting awake. She was dreaming. Or at least she thought she was. The ghostly, pale visage reflecting in the viewport grimaced back. It couldn’t be a dream. Faces were etched in such detail that a dream, fleeting and dust-veiled, could not render and words she recalled clearly spilled from their mouths in a way that made it seem more like a memory than a dream. 

The shuttle lurched again and she glanced uneasily at the pilot; steady on the yoke and silent in the chair despite the warning light bleating for attention. He flipped a lever to silence it.

_There’s a pilot for you,_ she scoffed.

She should know. Lieutenant Mara Tallion, formerly of the Resistance Ground Logistics Division, GLD for short, worked alongside the most careless of all their species: starfighter pilots. She knew their lot well. Reckless and stubborn with the tenacity of a Vornskr. And yet, despite the ease with which she recounted their shortcomings, it was not the flaws that slipped from her subconscious and tightened her chest as they zoomed through space. It was a shock of unruly, dark hair and devil-may-care eyes.

Her pilot. The one that left her speechless with awe and fury in equal measure. The one with which she logged countless hours, alone, bathed in her workstation's artificial light, caf cup growing cold awaiting Black One’s atmospheric re-entry. In the Resistance, everyone had their own code of conduct. Ops controllers lived by only one rule: Your job begins at takeoff and ends at touchdown. No exceptions.

As controller to the fleet’s wing commander, she regularly waited up for hours, chewing on pizo sticks to stay alert. And while many pilots overlooked these unsung heroes of the Resistance, Commander Poe Dameron did not. He vowed to make amends with a simple agreement: if the mission kept her over shift, he bought the next round.

Needless to say, she couldn’t remember the last drink paid for with her own credits.

And Mara could use one of those right about now. Instead, she fiddled with her fingers and peered out at the stars streaking by. It was a long time since she had done any inter-galactic transport. Poe never understood her need to be tethered to one place, as a literal ground controller, but he also never lived nomadically as she had. Something a hotshot flyboy could never understand.

Mara gave a cursory glance of her current surroundings. The old Lambda was a far cry from a T-70. And even now, in the very throes of uncertainty at what lie ahead, her skin tingled acutely at the thought of one black and orange model. The rows of flashing buttons, the yoke, the bantha leather seat bound in nylonite straps. Those details served a fantasy she relied on more often than not to relax after a particularly stressful mission. Some days the screaming matches escalated to such heights between her and the willful wing commander that the only resolution at day’s end came behind a closed door where her fingers worked out their differences, touching herself as if it were him. He famously knew her buttons and reveled in pressing them from afar.

At times, she felt ashamed. He was her commander after all, not some Holonet star, but those cares quickly flew away as her fingers sunk into her petaled lips, heavy with slick, as she imaged the dark-haired pilot showing her “what it’s like to ride in an X-Wing” as he had once so casually offered.

She laughed it off. Surely he wasn’t serious. But the joke only proved unshakable and instead evolved into a fantasy she knew by intimate detail.

One where he entraps her into those nylonite straps, nice and tight, nestling her into his lap. He’s adjusting the straps as she innocently brushes his crotch. A desperate growl catches in his throat as his body responds in earnest, canting his own hips against her. He’s half hard already. His heart thuds against her shoulders and he clears his throat as if to refocus himself. He mechanically flips levers. Warning lights flash and blink. The quad-core engines burst to life and his breath tickles the back of her neck.

The repulsorlifts launch them upwards and Mara purposefully grinds into his stirring cock, letting out a surprised yelp that sounds suspiciously wanton. The sturdy ridge pressing into her ass excites her. Layers of the atmosphere peel away and Poe can no longer restrain himself. He groans into her neck, pressing his warm lips to the space behind her ear, earning him a breathless whimper. 

Poe pulls the yoke toward him and they climb higher, now in planetary mesosphere. The starfighter rocks as they burst through the exosphere, all terrestrial bonds giving way and they’re lit by distant stars. Mara turns her head, giving him full access to her mouth as his fingers wander to the buttons of her pants, skillfully dipping between her thighs, languid fingers smearing her wetness across her heated clit. His thumb strokes her engorged lips as his fingers press into her sex, causing her to bite down on her bottom lip, dragging her teeth across it. 

Mara bristled suddenly, horrified at how quickly her face flushed with heat just thinking of it in that split second. Her fingers already itched, thinking of the soft, worn leather they had grazed only hours ago, greedily taking in the feeling of that worn jacket, the same one she had dreamed about being wrapped up in. Her lips pursed, burning with desire as her mind replayed her goodbye over and over again in a maddening revolution.

_“Just say it, Tallion…”_

_Her name was a tease on his lips. Musical and subtly salacious._

_“You_ want _to ride in the X-Wing of the best pilot in the galaxy.”_

_“Best pilot in the galaxy? Pfftt—that could be anyone.”_

Except it wasn’t anyone. The best pilot in the galaxy _was_ Commander Poe Dameron. And his controller, his partner on the ground, so horribly mismatched in temper and tenor, had come to say goodbye. 

The mere thought of him sent an uncomfortable twist in her chest as she approached the real black and orange T-70, its owner digging through tangled wires falling from the port side nose. A smile pulled at her despite herself. Most pilots left repairs up to the mechanics and flight techs, but the way he coddled his own starfighter, gently and attentively patching it up, was oddly endearing. 

She quietly observed the deftness with which he fingered each wire, snipping and stripping the corroded parts before methodically taping and replacing them inside an access panel. Resistance members sped past them, frantically packing up armaments, portable stations and medical supplies, but in the midst of it, she stood mesmerized, quiet as a corpse and was reminded of the day they met.

Why General Organa felt they would be a good tactical team was beyond her. Perhaps she thought Mara, the young, serious and tempered ground controller could balance out her daring but impetuous pilot. Boy, was she wrong. Rarely was a mission completed without some divergence creating a squabble about “sticking to the plan” that didn’t end in General Organa’s office with a strongly-worded reprimand. Mara would happily trade a lifetime of those days in place of today.

“Dameron.”

His name left her lips so delicately, almost too soft to hear the cerements of her resolve unraveling already.

_“Poe.”_ Louder this time.

Her squadron leader whipped around, startled, head banging the access panel door in surprise.

_“Stars, Tallion!_ What’re you—” He froze, his gaze taking stock of her civilian clothes, darting to her duffle, brow furrowing as the visual clues locked together like puzzle pieces. “...what’re you _wearing_?”

The solemn understanding finally dawning those handsome features was a sight she wasn’t prepared for.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Caught between a scream and a sob, she bit her trembling lip instead. Oh yes, she was going somewhere. Somewhere far from here and she could very well die _somewhere_ and no one would even know or care. And Poe Dameron’s face might be the last friendly face she ever laid eyes on.

“What’s wrong?” 

The way he was looking at her now, so delicately, dark eyes burning into her skin, obliterated any shred of dignity she had hoped to cling.

“Nothing,” she croaked, knowing it was useless to try and hide the mist in her eyes. 

“That’s a damn lie and you know it.” Poe pulled her into his arms, the duffle bag forgotten at their feet as she took refuge in his crumpled flight suit. Breathing in the musk of axle grease and recycled space air, like mechanical ozone, permeating his clothes. That pilot smell. There was nothing fragrant about it, but it was comforting to her now. 

“Now tell me—what’s happening?”

His smile, boyish and disarming, weakened her as much as she loathed to admit it. And as someone who should be immune to his charming quips and savoir-faire, now it only made the lump in her throat that much harder to swallow.

“I have to leave...” Her voice hitched and it was the beginning of a battle she had already lost with herself. “I’m sorry. It’s pathetic. I shouldn’t be...like this. It’s just— 

“It’s okay.” He shushed her, pulling her back against him. “It’s okay to be whatever you need to be.” Soothing fingers carded through her hair and Mara barely registered the discovery that he had never held her before. “Everyone is scared sometimes—

“Everyone but you,” she mumbled in his shoulder.

Poe pulled back, looking her in the eye. 

“Oh, c’mon—you don’t believe that?”

“... then you’re damn good at hiding it.”

“Well, you could probably be _better_ at it.”

She flashed a sharp look, but it quickly melted into a relenting smile, playfully jerking away from him only to be met with sure-handed resistance.

“Maybe I _am_ , but I was scared too, ya know. On Starkiller—“ he let out a heavy sigh and his brown eyes ducked her own, “because I had something to lose back there. Jess and Snap and…” 

There was a pause. Mara finally looked into his eyes, so full of the words left unspoken. The words she desperately wished he _would_ say.

_And you._

“But that’s what keeps me going. The fear of losing it all. And I can’t— _I won’t—_ let that happen. I know you feel it too.”

She did.

Poe’s fierce eyes searched her face, softening suddenly, desperately searching for that silver lining. “Time for a drink?”

“No,” she muttered softly, “the shuttle’s boarding soon.”

“Now?! But when are you coming back?”

Her lips pursed and she pulled at a loose string on her sleeve. The question was so simple and yet just another in a long line of questions with no answers, just the assurance that General Organa knew what she was doing.

His voice hitched, as if a thought suddenly dawned on him, “You don’t…You don’t _know_ —do you?”

“No. They didn’t say.”

His face turned somber, the spark fading from his eyes and she knew in that moment he had stumbled on the truth.

_“Field work,”_ he whispered to himself in utter disbelief.

In the two years Mara worked so closely with the Commander, she had yet to witness the look of shock blanketing his face now. A hand sprung to her own in a moment of helplessness. Her face warmed at the contact, unsure who was comforted, but the burdened look in his eyes signaled an unearthing of something deeper. Something buried. 

“But you—you’re part of this team. _Our_ team...We need you _here_.”

His words weakened her. No one had ever _needed_ her before. She joined the resistance two years ago and until that moment, never belonged anywhere. And now that she found that belonging, in Black Squadron, in Poe, it was being ripped away.

Her voice was scratchy as the words finally escaped. 

“The request came from General Organa. Personally.”

“But we’ve already got agents in the field—why you?”

“It’s a special assignment. They need someone who knows languages. And we have to move quickly.”

Poe looks as if he desperately wants to say something, but can’t.

“Just…” he blinks, once, twice and his gaze finally returns to her in a rueful sweep, “be careful.”

“Why don’t you take your own advice, _Commander_ Dameron,” she replied, a sardonic smirk finally pulling at her tight lips.

“I’m serious _,_ ” he added sharply and the smirk disappeared at the hard edge she found there. “Kylo Ren is still out there. He’s... _ruthless._ You avoid him at all costs—you got me?”

“I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” she replied, breathless.

Poe never spoke about his time as a First Order captive, but one could easily guess where his thoughts turned now. His hands rubbed her shoulders, clinging to her, as if they lamented letting her go. She withered in his grasp, wishing to bolt in the face of this vulnerability. When he finally looked at her again, she blinked away tears in a futile attempt to hide them.

“I’m sorry—Mara—” 

He was so close she could barely look him in the eye through mist clinging to her lashes. Closing the gap, she pressed into him. His body, solidly built, reassuringly sealed against her quivering one. Her arms instinctively locked around him, warm beneath her embrace. The scent of his hair swept under her nose, wringing fresh tears from her eyes. “I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t’ve said—it’s just that—Muran, L’ulo...we’ve lost so many already. If you were hurt or...”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mara mumbled in his shoulder.

“No—it’s not like that.”

He pulled back to search her face, all explanations fallen away as his lips fluttered against her own, a gentle pressure on her mouth as if to reassure her. 

This was right.

Mara leaned in against her better judgement, fingers delicately carding his hair, reveling in the silken curls sliding beneath them. She shouldn’t do this. It was definitely against some protocol, but what did protocol have to say to a quiet desperation between two people who may never see one another again? 

With numb lips and nose buried in the crook of his neck, she inhaled deeply, silently shaking, anguish threatening to consume her as it poured out on the shoulder of his flight suit. Her eyes squeezed shut, committing the feeling to memory, wishing it would never end and if she just kept her eyes closed, it didn’t have to. 

“I guess I won’t get that ride now,” she whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I listen to a lot of music while writing to get in the right mood, so if dark, dramatic and vampy is your vibe too then please enjoy this companion playlist: [Imperium](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0nRYOQlJU79wnJyrGvAnYo?si=44b578d242ea495d)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General extends an invitation. Mara meets an important stranger on her way to accept it.

II.

The shuttle’s rumbling repulsorlifts startled her and if it weren’t for her death grip on the mission dossier, it would have skid far across the hull on descent. She quickly swallowed down the bile burning her throat. Her tired eyes peered from the viewport, taking in the spaceport below. A sudden jolt signaled ground contact and the boarding ramp lowered with a labored whine.

_This is your stop._

In a surreal haze, Mara stood, scooping up her duffle, leaving the dossier behind as instructed and stiffly descended the ramp. She preferred to say nothing, to exit without fanfare as her feet carried her thoughtlessly through the spaceport tunnels. She followed signs for the lower level ports before stumbling upon number eighty-six.

Steeling herself, Mara headed for the only shuttle docked in bay five. Before setting foot on the landing pad, a booming voice rang out from behind.

“You must be the General’s interpreter.” 

Whipping around, an older gentleman with sandy hair greeted her. He looked slightly windswept but tidy, standing tall, head high as if balanced on an invisible string. He wore no insignia but bore all the tells of a military man, impossibly straight posture and an impeccable orderliness about him. His black clothes contrasted harshly against the spaceport’s white walls and she suppressed a flinch at his thin lips drawing into a grin. 

“Colonel Le Hivre?” Mara stumbled on the name with its fancy nobiliary particle. Was it _even_ his real name? It was so quintessentially Imperial it was as if he made it up in parody.

“The very same.” His head dipped in acknowledgement. “It’s perhaps best we don’t tarry here. Allow me to take your luggage.” 

Before Mara could utter a protest, the Colonel’s gloved hand reached for her duffle. She dropped the handle, glancing over her shoulder, skin tingling as an acute feeling of hyper awareness overtook her. No one was around and yet a presence could be felt, as if her life of surveillance had already begun. 

Le Hivre, already ten paces ahead, looked back, causing her to scurry across the permacrete landing pit to catch up.

“Will you tell me—?”

“Not a word until we board,” he cut her off abruptly.

Once aboard, the Colonel swiftly prepared for takeoff, seating himself in the captain’s chair and engaging the starship’s thrusters. Mara turned to catch the shuttle ramp raising, her chest clenching as the last trace of pure daylight disappeared. The hermetical hiss sealed her in, its shriek a stark reminder of a fate now permanent.

With her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, she covertly spied Le Hivre, careful not to turn her head. Was he even the _real_ Le Hivre? He didn’t introduce himself initially, provided no credentials and she wasn’t provided a picture to identify him. He could be anyone. He could be some stranger posing as the Colonel and she just agreed to leave with him!

Her better judgement cut in. He knew exactly what bay to land in and arrived at the time she was set to meet him. He even knew her name and referenced her assignment. Anyone else couldn’t have known those details.

“I trust you can co-pilot?” His crisp accent cut into her thoughts and Mara practically bristled at the question.

“It’s been a while, but...yeah, I can manage.” 

The engines roared beneath them, signaling Mara’s cue to strap in. With the mental reassurance this was not some elaborate charade, she sunk into the headrest, gravity’s foreign pull knotting her stomach as they prepared for lightspeed.

“Apologies for the hasty exit, but it's imperative we hit hyperspace in the event you were followed,” Le Hivre added, his gloved fingers keying in the coordinates. So perhaps her instincts were right after all.

“Followed?” Mara parroted. She had been too paranoid about Le Hirve’s own identity.

“Yes. The First Order have spies _everywhere._ The old networks were left mostly intact from the Imperial days.”

“Right,” she responded listlessly, feeling terribly disoriented. She could almost feel the bonds of her old life slipping away, becoming more faint as she floated, untethered to reality. As if any moment now, she might wake up in her own bed on D’Qar. Her pulse raced, thrumming against her insides.

“What's your cover story?” He immediately fired off as they jumped to lightspeed, stars streaking the viewports, filling the cockpit with blueish-white light. 

It wasn’t a dream. 

“I’m a merchant from Brolsam. My father and I traveled the Outer Rim together getting crop orders for our farm.”

“And why would a farm girl support the First Order?” He fired back with a tone that felt subtly condescending, but Mara brushed it aside anyway.

“We did well under the Empire.” She replied, eyes rising to the blinking lights of the ship’s cockpit, a pang of sadness hitting her at all once as she thought of Poe. “But I saw the chaos first hand when they left. The rebels let the Fefze swarms ruin most of our land and eventually ran us out of business. I want to help the First Order restore control in the galaxy.”

Mara repeated the paragraph in her dossier flawlessly. She must have read it a thousand times on the flight to Arkanis.

“Simple enough. Do you think you can stick to that?” He leaned back, legs stretched before him, sinking into his command chair as the autopilot pulled them through space.

“It’s mostly true, aside from the last part. It was actually the First Order who occupied our planet and took over our farm. That’s when I was smuggled offplanet. I eventually found my way to the Resistance. Or, really, they found me. Either way, General Organa only changed a few things here and there so I don’t get my story mixed up.”

“Clever woman,” Le Hivre smiled, admiration ringing clear in his baritone tenor. His eyes flicked to the navicomputer in the ship’s console. 

“But how do we know each other?” Mara turned to look at him, realizing that she was never given details on their fake relationship.

“Brolsam, you said?” She nodded. 

“It’s simple. The Empire ruled the Kathor system for a long time—no doubt your family remembers that. You’re too young for me to know you from those days, but if your father really is a merchant there, it’s likely he sold to the Empire. We’ll say he’s an old contact of mine. We’ve kept in touch and he’s looking for opportunities after the family business collapsed. I got word from General Hux that he was in need of someone with your skillsets. I can vouch for you based on your family’s loyalty to the old Empire.”

Mara cringed at how effortlessly the lie came together, knowing full well it was the complete opposite of anything her father would have ever wanted. How easily would she be expected to weave together elaborate lies in the course of her time in the Order?

“And you’ve been thoroughly briefed on your assignment?”

“Yes, well—sort of...General Organa said that I’m to accompany the General. He needs an interpreter for some diplomatic missions. Whatever I find should be uploaded to one of those old Death Star droids—an RA-7?” Mara found the errant string from her sleeve again, wrapping it around her index finger and pulling at it subconsciously. 

“Correct.” He replied, his Imperial accent as precise as a Star Destroyer’s nose. “The unit is called 3B6—the General’s personal droid. He believes them too incompetent for secretarial work, so it’s relegated to servicing his personal quarters.” 

“How did you manage that?” the question tinged with disbelief.

“Manage what?” He rummaged around in a small bulkhead compartment, pulling out a teal jacket, matching First Order cap and code cylinders. 

“Compromising the General’s personal servant droid?”

“I didn’t.” He stated simply, stripping off the nondescript jacket and replacing it with his ranking uniform. “Compromising it was too much work—I’m not a slicer. I sent detailed photos to the Resistance. They had a replica made—exact, all the way down to the serial numbers. They dropped it in another system. I picked it up, disposed of the old one and here we are. Of course, we added some _extra_ features including a cranial data uplink.” 

“For the dispatches?”

“Yes—on the back of the droid’s head, just above the neck. There’s a small slot hidden by a compartment hatch. You can transmit dispatches from there on a datacard.”

“And these diplomatic missions—what are they for?”

Le Hivre sighed dramatically.

“That is precisely yours to find out.”

_Yes. Of course, Mara. That’s your job. Maybe think of some intelligent questions next time._

“Are there others?”

“Others?”

“Agents,” Mara clarified.

“Most likely. I’ve always worked alone, but now we’re a cell—if you will. There are likely other cells, but I’m not privy to them. And neither should you be. In fact, you cannot have _any_ unauthorized communication with the Resistance. _Only_ communicate via the dispatches. They’re going directly to General Organa. If anyone else knew you were here, you could be compromised.”

“Compromised? _By_ the resistance?”

“Agents are everywhere _._ Even in the Resistance.”

She had never known that such a world lay right under the surface. It was hard to imagine anyone, especially anyone in ground logistics, being a First Order operative. But...perhaps a controller would be the best cover, as they were often briefed on mission specifics and clandestine by nature. 

They both fell into an uncomfortable silence. The errant string wrapped around her knuckle now painfully cut off her finger’s circulation, the tiny vessels ballooning with blood.

“My briefing documents said you worked under Commandant Hux for a long time.”

“Until his death.” The Colonel’s gaze flicked to her, chin resting on fingers steepled together, elbows braced against the navigation console.

“How did he die?”

He froze, lips pursed thoughtfully, hesitance lasting just long enough for Mara to catch wind of it.

“He’d just returned from Parnossos. A botched mission. They say it was radiation poisoning. He recovered but then grew very ill, dying under somewhat...mysterious circumstances.”

“You think he was murdered?”

“I think plenty of people wanted him to be, but we’ll likely never know what happened to him. He acquired enemies too easily and whoever killed him was careful.” 

“What should I know about his son? The General?”

Le Hivre arched both eyebrows as if _that_ were a topic he had plenty to say on.

“General Armitage Hux has his...quirks, to be sure. I was only a cadet when news spread about his birth. Not through his father’s wife, mind you, but a young kitchen servant at the Academy. There were of course whispers. Rumors about why they never produced a child of their own. Most assumed it was due to infertility, but no one knows for sure.” Le Hivre flicked at the console, checking the flight time. 

“I was serving in the Imperial remnant by the time young Hux was academy age, so I never knew him as a child, only as he came to us—a young man—serious, full of purpose and duty. I’ve heard he and the Commandant were rescued from the last throes of the Empire’s collapse on Arkanis and brought aboard one of the last Super Star Destroyers to ever grace the galaxy. The _Ravager.”_

“Where is it now?”

“Buried in the sands of Jakku. Along with much of the old Empire. Hux lived there, briefly, but he’s spent more of his life aboard starships than on the ground—

“That’s _one thing_ we have in common,” she muttered.

“He’s also highly influenced by his father’s own military philosophies, regardless of his personal feelings for the man.”

“Bad relationship?”

“Horrible. Abusive—I’ve heard. But Hux had another mentor who was perhaps even more influential than his own father.”

“Who?”

“She’s before your time,” he sighed. Le Hivre seemed almost wistful as he looked out into the swirling hyperspace. “Hux is cunning like his father but loyal and disciplined like Admiral Sloane. She really was the best of the Empire.”

Mara tensed, the admission turning her blood cold. How could a man who traded secrets with the Republic have any sincere respect for Imperial admirals? 

Le Hivre must have sensed her unease, for he smiled knowingly, “I know what you’re thinking. How could I? But you must understand Mara, you’ll have to develop a begrudging respect for them. You’ll need to _think_ like them if you’re ever going to succeed in this line of work.” 

At that exact moment, they emerged from the tunnel of hyperspace, their shuttle zipping in behind a battlecruiser’s giant sublight ion engines, their blue beams piercing the darkness like distant quasars wrapped in durasteel casing. 

The enormous size and scale of the largest class of starships left her speechless. She had never seen one up close, only remembered their ominous shadows hanging over Brolsam like giant storm clouds. As they flew up closer to the behemoth, Mara could make out the intricate details of its surface. Thousands of little trenches carved the face of it with millions more towers, pipes, sensors and turbocanons clinging to its angled shell. The level of work involved in building such a piece of weaponry was nearly unfathomable. 

“This is the _Finalizer,_ a _Resurgent-class_ ship,” Le Hivre explained as he lowered the shuttle, the great shadow descending over them and darkening the main cabin. “At any time, there are between sixty and seventy thousand men and women on board and your General is responsible for every single one of them.”

 _Your_ General. She recoiled at the thought. Until this moment, _her_ General was General Leia Organa of the galactic Resistance, but now...she would have to pretend otherwise. She considered this fact as the Colonel pulled back on the yoke, slowing their shuttle for descent into the _Finalizer’s_ open hangar. Indeed, from this moment on, Officer Mara Tallion was no longer a Resistance controller, but the personal interpreter to a First Order General, completely subject to his chain of command.

Their landing gear deployed, the shock absorbers whining under the shuttle’s weight as it officially settled on the hangar floor. Le Hivre must have sensed her anxiety radiating in palpable waves. His chair swiveled to face her, hand reaching up to clasp her arm in a gesture that took too long to register as comforting. The hangar’s harsh tube lighting streamed through the cockpit windshield, feeling like a spotlight on Mara. 

“Before we disembark, I have something for you.” 

Le Hivre reached in the folds of his uniform, producing a small container no larger than the palm wrapped around it. The hidden contents rattled in their plastic chambers as he passed it to her. The sound rekindled unpleasant memories from a life that felt strangely ephemeral now. Like a nightmare one distantly remembers in fleeting images and sounds, unable to string together the sequence of events leading from then to now.

Mara exhaled and numbly opened one of the box’s many hatches. Beneath the hinged lid lay a handful of blue pills. 

“Sleeping pills,” Le Hivre said. “There’s an adjustment period—being here and doing the work that we’re doing. It helps if you take one at night. Just to acclimate you. After a while you won’t even need them.”

Mara studied the Colonel, tracing the trenches beneath his eyes, no doubt left behind by memories he wished not to recall and wondered exactly _who_ he hoped to convince. After all these years, did he still need sleeping pills to erase the events of each day and drift off into a dreamless stupor? 

She opened another compartment. It revealed a single red pill.

“Be careful with that one.” Mara’s gaze shot up to the Colonel who gravely regarded the tiny capsule.

“What happens if I take it?” She asked, rolling the little glass pill between thumb and forefinger, its smooth surface felt oddly calming as it glided between her fingertips. 

“You die.”

She froze, the pill pinched between her fingers.

“...suicide?”

“Yes. It’s best if you keep it on you at all times.” He patted the same pocket over his breast from where he retrieved the box. “So that you always have a way out.” 

A way out. Her finger clamped down on the compartment lid. It came together with a snap—the very danger she was in now real enough to hold in her hand. Death was ‘the end,’ not a way out, but in her new world, even death was redefined. 

“Hopefully it will never come to that, but if you ever run into trouble—ever need anything—don’t hesitate to contact me, but _do not use_ the official comm channels. They’re monitored and I wouldn’t want anything on record. If you need anything, my quarters are below the bridge, level 10, sector 5, door 225.”

10-5-225. She committed the numbers to memory.

The cabin’s overhead lights cut on and Mara flinched. The intensity of them cast heavy shadows under Le Hivre’s eyes, obscuring his face. He rose, as if the spell had been broken. From that moment onward, he was no longer Le Hivre, her fellow resistance agent and mentor, but Colonel Orman Le Hivre, humble servant of the First Order.

“Come, Officer Tallion.”

Mara never felt more small, more insignificant than the moment she stepped into the _Finalizer’s_ massive hangar _._ Its durasteel lip gaped open to space like a purrgil’s mouth and she, little more than prey trapped in its enormous jaws; one last tantalizing glimpse of freedom before it swallowed her completely.

The Colonel escorted Mara to personnel management, where she was issued a uniform, datapad and a keycard to her own barracks on level 7, sector 5. _Just a few levels below the Colonel’s_ , Mara reassured herself as she took the turbolift to her own level and made her way down a long corridor to her designated room at number 171. 

She stepped down into a small alcove and flashed her card up to a panel. It admitted her to a compartment hardly larger than the bed and side table it accommodated. It seemed her barracks on the _Finalizer_ were hardly different than that of D’Qar, except newer and cleaner. 

Where D’Qar withstood decades of utilitarian usage, faithfully serving the rebels before them, the _Finalizer_ was barely off the assembly line, a modern marvel of engineering and design. Its surfaces appeared almost glass-like in their unmarred perfection. Its optimally lit hallways felt unnaturally bright. The walls buzzed with an energy boiling beneath the surface; everything within it ruthlessly churning and spinning, a million tiny pieces, man and machine alike, propelling it ever forward into the galactic dark.

As the door slid shut, she dropped her duffle and leaned back against the steel panel, sliding down it until she reached the cold, hard floor. She hugged her knees in a desperate attempt to find comfort in her sterile surroundings. 

She let out a long, low sigh.

This was insane— _stupid,_ really. She wasn’t a spy. Didn’t really know the first thing about _being_ a spy, except never to acknowledge it, of course. And what confidence did General Organa actually have that she could uncover anything of value in this mission anyway? Was the resistance really so desperate to risk sending a flight controller on an important operation? Why hadn’t she wondered this before now?

A flush crept up her neck and Mara curled her fingers into a fist, fingernails digging into her palms as her chest rose in deep breaths. _Calm down._ A gentle, inner voice reassured her. _You’re okay. Nothing has even happened yet._

A curt knock rattled the door at her back. She sprung away in panic, face flushed with heat, terrified that whoever stood on the other side heard her scrambling. 

The knocking continued, faster, more insistent this time. 

She froze, standing in her tiny quarters, blood turning to ice in her veins and eyes glued to the door. Whoever was outside _knew_ she was in there. It was the Colonel. It had to be. He came back because he said not to use the comm systems. He must have forgotten to tell her something. _Yes, that’s it_ , she thought, forcing her own trembling hand to reach the release after a third round of knocks.

The door slid open, the reveal stealing her breath. It was not the Colonel, but a pair of black, ocular sensors staring down at her behind a mask of white betaplast. Mara stumbled backwards, her instincts kicking into high gear; heart battering against the ribcage barely containing it. 

“Officer Tallion?” the Stormtrooper’s modulated voice echoed in her tiny room. Her first instinct was to lie but then who else would be in her room?

“Yes…?” the answer came in a weak tremor as she became transfixed by the wide-eyed girl reflected in those ocular sensors. 

Blood pulsed beneath her fingertips and her gaze caught something on the floor. The duffle bag. She could scoop it up and sling it at him, use the moment of chaos to push past him, grabbing his blaster as she barrels out to the hallway. How far was she from the hangar? If only she had memorized the route—

“I’ve come to deliver a message on behalf of General Hux.”

General Hux. The name quieted the frantic, inner monologue desperately planning her escape. This was it. The First Order had rooted her out. Perhaps realized something was _not exactly_ right by her nervous interactions with personnel management. They alerted the General and he sent this stormtrooper to collect her, to whisk her away to some lightless room where only the Force knows what happens to spies. 

Her mouth ran dry, lips parted and eyes lowered, searching for any movement from his blaster.

“The General would like to personally welcome you to the _Finalizer._ He requests that you dine with him tonight in his private quarters, located on level 10, sector 5, room 230 at nineteen hundred hours.” 

The blood pounding between her ears almost rendered him unintelligible. A puzzled expression swept across her face as the vocoded words finally processed. Dinner. The General invited her _to dinner._

“Oh...” 

The trooper’s mask hid his doubtless bewilderment as he saluted her and took his leave. The door couldn’t shut fast enough as she regained feeling in her legs, wobbling over to the small bed and collapsing into it. Face down, she breathed in the smell of Order-issued detergent, its strong aldehyde scent calming as her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. She ordered the lights to ten percent and after what felt like an eternity, anxious exhaustion overtook her. 

Two hours later, Mara woke with a start, disoriented and panicked, frantically searching for her datapad. 1830. There was plenty of time _,_ she reassured herself as she rose from the little cot, clearing the sleep-induced fog and retrieving the uniform garment hanging by the door.

The black duty uniform only served to remind her that unlike the Resistance where she had risen to some prominence, she was no one in the First Order. Just a lowly non-commissioned officer serving as the personal interpreter for one of the most infamous Generals in the galaxy. There would be nothing to distinguish her from the scores of petty officers running around the _Finalizer,_ attending to their superiors’ every beck and call.

Mara peeled away the civilian clothing she arrived in and closed the top hook and eye of her uniform, the collar chafing her neck. She smoothed down the cropped military jacket and met her own stare in the mirror. A stripe of black crowned by a pale face with dark hair and eyes to match. Turning slightly revealed a red starburst sewn into her left shoulder and she resisted the urge to bite her fingernail. 

With eyes squeezed shut, the image disappeared and she took solace in her self-made darkness. 

_Your name is Mara Tallion and you are a resistance agent. This is your job. This is not you._

_This. is not. you._

Sighing, she pulled back the wavy, dark hair curtaining her shoulders and wound it into a tight bun. The last piece of her disguise now in place, any individuality enjoyed in her old life officially erased. With another deep breath, she released the lock button on her door and wandered out into the dark, glossy maze of the _Finalizer._

Level 10 had a spacious corridor branching off into other sub-corridors, unlike the narrow, single trenches from whence she came. The oppressive silence pervading this level only emphasized her Order-issued boots’ quiet clicking. It was what unnerved her most about a giant ship like the _Finalizer—_ the unnatural silence of space. On base, there was no shortage of sound. The constant buzz of techs preparing ships on the flightline. The X-wings’ roaring quad engines, ready for takeoff. Poe’s constant chatter echoing in her headset composed a cacophony of noise that followed her everywhere, so much that she forgot what silence sounded like. And right now, it sounded like a mechanized tomb floating through eternal darkness.

Except Mara was not alone. And the tomb was not silent. Somewhere, down one of those branching hallways, heavy footfalls hammered the grated floor below as if trying to punish the ground beneath them.

The pounding kept time for her hammering pulse as her body hummed and organs twisted at the approaching sound. As if in slow motion, everything stopped. In his sights, she could scarcely move or breathe as her lower lip fell, air whooshing from her lungs, brain misfiring, trying and failing to process the advancing humanoid.

A man—no—a _shadow_ , slunk toward her, dark robes billowing angrily behind him, head cowled. It lumbered closer, a flash of silver flickering through the folded hood. Her gaze flitted away, desperate to evade the creature’s attention.

With every hair on end and breath held, she slowly advanced, quieting her steps, almost flattening herself to the bulkhead wall. He crept closer. The tail end of his robes licked her calves as he passed and she shuddered at the contact.

The figure swept away and judging by the softening clank, it must be several steps down the corridor. She dared not look.

She nearly rounded the next corner when only one clicking sound remained, her own, and the mechanical voice rose from deep within those robes.

_“Officer.”_

She froze, skin prickling. Surely, he wasn’t addressing her. Surely, someone else was meant to answer that. But no one spoke and Mara knew somewhere in her mind, screeching in panic, that the deep, modulated address was for no one but her.

Her padded shoulders rose with a deep inhale and she turned, insides wriggling in protest with each passing beam of the hexagonal hallway. Unable to face the monstrous visage, she instead counted each tube light passing overhead, heart pounding as her steps soon ran out.

With head bowed and beneath fanned lashes, she glimpsed the creature lowering his hood. He stood like a black spire above her, his domed helmet jutting upwards in a menacing display of height. The full light illuminated his mask, revealing intricate metal webbing welded together like exterior tendons anchoring each piece. In his visor no eyes stared back, just a shadow, as deep and as dark and as impenetrable as a black hole. 

Mara swallowed, tongue wetting the dried seam of her lips and nearly stuttered, “Yes, sir?”

A calm, mechanical and distinctly male voice emanated from the mask. His gloved hand swept to his waist, coming to rest against a cross-shaped device dangling from a wide, leather belt. Her gaze swept back up.

“Curious thing to see a petty officer wandering the senior command deck.” 

“I was invited here...sir.”

“By whom?”

“General Hux.” 

He released a modulated purr. “Ah...our dear General...and what business do you have with him?”

“I’m his new interpreter,” she replied, the words burning her tongue like hot coals. 

A thoughtful hum vibrated from within the mask as it tilted a fraction to the side. The tremor echoed in her chest and Mara shivered from the odd thrumming. A chill crept inside her clothes as she imagined him surveying her cowering figure.

“Then welcome aboard Officer…?”

“Tallion.”

“Officer Tallion,” his words were cut short by something akin to an engine sputtering, no doubt meant to be a chuckle, but devoid of joy or amusement. “Your commanding general doesn’t take kindly to tardiness, so I suggest you make haste.” 

“Yes, sir.” Mara uttered and stiffly spun around, scalp tingling as she practically bolted away, careful not to appear too harried. His stare weighed on her and she bristled at the feel of it, willing her heart to stop pulsing in every appendage.

Once out of sight, Mara darted, creating distance between her and the shadow, doors blurring past as she raced to room 230. Within no time, she stood at the very door in question, metering her labored breathing and pushing back loose strands of hair. Her hand visibly shook as it pressed the only outside button. A tiny camera captured her face, its lens no doubt reflecting a disheveled officer to an unimpressed General. Mere seconds felt like an eternity. She glanced back, expecting the shadow to appear at any moment. 

The door slid open, but no General appeared. She stood at the threshold, unsure if protocol dictated announcing her presence or just entering until a clipped voice rang out.

“Come in, Officer Tallion.” 

Mara stepped past the otherwise unremarkable door frame into the immaculate personal suite of General Hux. Just inside the doorway, a pair of plush leather chairs caught her gaze, their chrome legs flickering before a lit fireplace. To the right, sleek, straight-backed dining chairs surrounded a glass table without a speck of dust marring any surface. Behind it stood a kitchenette, glossy grey cabinets clustered in a corner where a hallway stretched further back to the left, presumably to the General’s bedroom and personal office. She wanted to get a better look around but was forewarned never to look too _studious_ under the infamously shrewd eye of General Hux.

"Do you have the time, officer?” 

The old Imperial accent violently snapped her from her gawking, pulling her gaze toward the back of the room, past the chairs and fireplace, where a single First Order uniform stood disguised in darkness. Tall and lean with back turned and hands clasped, he faced a glass viewport stretching the room’s entire length, opening to the darkness of space like a giant maw.

“The _time_ , sir?”

He did not turn, but instead leisurely observed the quiet, cosmic expanse.

 _“If you would be so kind_.” 

Every hair stood at attention, his voice carrying an electric current through her as she hiked up her uniform sleeve to read the chronometer fixed at her wrist. 

“Nineteen oh-two, sir.”

“Repeat.”

The command was terse. Merciless. Mara paused, puzzled by the direction. She spoke plainly enough.

“Nineteen—

“Slower.”

She took a deep breath.

“Niiineteeeen oh—”

“Two,” he clipped.

There was an awkward pause, full of apprehension and a sudden realization that Mara was too terrified to speak aloud.

“If I wanted you to arrive at two past the hour, I would have instructed it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Mara’s jaw tensed as she ground out the response, staring at his uniformed shoulders in abject horror.

His movements were slow and urbane as he executed a left face turn, heels clicking together with the razored precision of an officer on parade. He exuded a heady mix of control and military pageantry, the First Order incarnate.

Mara’s gaze rolled up from the polished boots planted firmly before her, eyes tracing the leather hide leading to his dark jodhpurs, stiff and creaseless beneath a silk tunic and fastened at the waist by a steel-plated belt.

If she had expected someone much older, softer, perhaps balding under a First Order cap, Mara was sorely disappointed. Eyes like icebergs sized her up, peering out of cheekbones carved from the alabaster bluffs of a youthful face. His copper hair shone like embers, burning a hole against the backdrop of space. General Hux could not be further from the aging bureaucrats who helmed the Empire. He was not some weak-willed figurehead mired in excess and indulgence—no, his appearance was immaculate, his demeanor elegant and in that moment, Mara was in awe of him. 

“Don’t be sorry.” 

Those icy eyes met her own. 

“Be punctual.” 

Her eyes lingered too long and lips too slow to utter a response. In all the galaxy, she had never encountered such poise and power that it only seemed to emphasize her inferiority in the face of it.

“I apologize, sir, but a...someone stopped me in the hallway.”

His handsome face remained unmoved by her explanation, glassy blue eyes placid and lips barely moving as he replied.

“A someone?” 

A single eyebrow rose with the question and Mara cringed at the incredulous lilt wrapped around it. In a flustered rush, she stuttered like an errant school girl before her austere headmaster.

“I didn’t—he didn’t give me a name.” 

_“Ren.”_

“Pardon?”

“Allow me to guess…” He strolled over to the kitchenette, plucking a lowball glass from the counter and taking a swig of amber liquid. “This _someone..._ wore all black and spoke with a modulator?”

“Yes.”

“Commander Ren.” He ground the name through his molars as if it pained him to say.

_Commander Ren. Kylo Ren. The Order’s Enforcer._

“General Organa’s…”

“Yes,” he replied, not allowing her to finish. 

_It was him._ She stood so close to the very monster who tormented her squadron leader and all she could think of now was his last warning. _Avoid him at all costs._

The General lifted his glass again for another sip, but paused suddenly, brow dropping in an incredulous scowl.

“How are you privy to that?”

Blood drained from her face. Perhaps she _shouldn’t_ have known. Was that common knowledge outside the Resistance?

“You hear a lot of things traveling around." She swallowed nervously. "I-I didn’t know if it was true. Should I have addressed him?”

“No. In fact, it’s best that you don’t. Alert me at once if he ever approaches you again.”

She sighed in relief. He seemed to have accepted it, or at least allowed his annoyance to cloud any further interest in the information’s origin.

“But why would he—

“He shouldn’t.” His flinty gaze fell on her again and Mara felt there was something to it. “But if he persists, report to me... _immediately._ ” 

She couldn’t begin to guess the exact nature of Hux’s relationship to Kylo Ren, but it clearly vexed him to know the Force wielder had any interest, even fleeting as it was, in his interpreter. The usefulness of this observation may prove limited for now, but she mentally filed it away just in case.

“Aren’t you his superior?”

The comment visibly rankled him, clearly the wrong line of questioning.

“He’s not in my chain of command. He answers to the Supreme Leader.”

Mention of the First Order’s shadow leader sent a chill down her spine. Rumors ran wild about him within the Resistance. That he may be inhuman or worse, unkillable, and here she stood, close, closer than any Resistance member had ever been to one of his most loyal adherents. 

Hux’s wristcomm buzzed, violently snapping her out of the surreal reverie.

“That would be dinner,” he announced and Mara realized the wristcomm must be the release for his front door, for it slid open automatically and in walked her savior from more conversational faux pas.

A service droid rolled past them, pushing a cart covered in domed plates. Beneath it, several glass bottles rattled and clinked on the second shelf as it wheeled the cart toward the dining table. The aroma wafting through the room left her mouth watering and she tried not to appear too interested as she casually followed the General to the table. Any mustered determination dissipated as the droid unlidded each plate. Her eyes never strayed from the Roba steak and spiced Daro root placed before her. When was the last time she had eaten? This morning? Yesterday?

The droid deposited two stemmed glasses before each place setting and General Hux selected a wine bottle from the second shelf. Mara seated herself, finally deigning to face the servant droid. It bore a distinctly insectoid face. 

The Death Star droid.

Mara froze, observing it curiously, as if it may give her some covert sign designating Resistance loyalty. Instead, it seemed to ignore her entirely, its giant, arthropodic eyes listlessly focused on the task at hand. Not that droids could emote anyway.

A sudden _pop_ came from somewhere beside her, jolting Mara as if a blaster had just gone off. An embarrassed heat ran through her upon realizing it was only a wine cork. 

She watched intently as the General delicately poured a ribbon of teal liquid in each glass. The droid shuffled toward the door and Mara’s gaze followed, wondering exactly how she was expected to gain unfettered access to this droid...

“How familiar are you with wines, officer?”

Her attentive eyes flicked to her superior and she blinked like a deer caught in speeder lights.

“Not at all.” 

It wasn’t a lie. In fact, the only alcohol Mara ever consumed was the affectionately-named “jet juice.” Poe insisted they keep the traditions of rebels past who drank to successful missions. Usually served in a rinsed out oil cap, its harsh bite burned as she downed it, a far cry from the sophistication with which the General now held his stemmed glassware, swirling it with a flick of his wrist.

“Toniray.” His long, nimble fingers, elegantly spun the glass between them. His nails, perfectly trimmed without callous or cut, mesmerized her and she remotely wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

“From Alderaan.” 

It fell like a hammer through the room. The violence of it brought images of a blue-green planet, its existence obliterated in a flash of light. Their lives scattered like stardust to unending darkness. When her eyes finally found the General’s, those clear blue orbs imprisoned her, as if awaiting reaction.

“Must be quite old then.”

Her face went numb as the words misfired from her mouth. Those golden eyebrows raised infinitesimally. She mentally steeled herself for the fallout, but instead, those full lips pulled into a suppressed grin. He was... _amused?_

“Indeed.”

He held up the bottle, spinning it around. “This one was salvaged from the _Executrix.”_

“I’ve never heard of it.” She spoke too quickly, immediately terrified that her answer was unacceptable.

A single, light eyebrow rose on General Hux’s face, answering her inner question. 

“I trust you’ve heard of Grand Moff Tarkin?”

Of course she had. It was hard to imagine anyone in the galaxy unfamiliar with the man who ordered Alderaan’s annihilation. _What’s next? Hosnian Whisky?_ she thought bitterly, memory harkening back to that exact moment, standing on D’Qar’s flightline, surrounded by fellow resistance, watching a distant beam shoot through the sky with repressive helplessness. 

Instead, she forced a closed-lipped smile. “How fascinating...But I'm afraid I’m just a simple farmer’s daughter who knows nothing of wine or warships.”

“Conveniently for us, your success here is dependent upon neither,” he retorted while delicately carving a piece of Roba meat. Success. Yes, what exactly _is_ success here?

“Actually sir, I’ve wondered...why _did_ you hire me?”

His hands froze, fork and knife deftly hovering in abeyance as he considered the perplexing question. Maker, she must have seemed like the galaxy’s greatest idiot right now.

“Would you have preferred I hadn’t?”

“No! I’m just—I’m curious, why not...a protocol droid?”

He regarded her with a furrowed brow and she shuddered at how easily that single look reduced her to nothing.

“While protocol droids may be proficient in languages, I prefer a _human_ touch when dealing in matters of great import—I’m sure you understand. Le Hivre said you have first hand knowledge of the planets we’ll be traveling to from your experience as a merchant’s apprentice. Have I been misinformed?”

“No sir, it’s just that...I wasn’t given very much information on _what_ we’ll be negotiating...”

Mara sat perched on the edge of her seat, involuntarily squeezing her fork. The intel was there. Somewhere. And she was so close to getting it, she could almost hear it on the tip of his tongue.

“Information will be granted as it is required, at which time I will inform you of our intended location and objective. Until then, you are to be made available at a moment’s notice. Is that clear?”

_Damn._

“Of course, sir.”

Mara could already tell the First Order was _nothing_ like the Resistance where chain of command was nearly nonexistent. The Order clearly took great pains to ensure certain members were entrusted with specific information, likely in an attempt to prevent leaks. The situation wasn’t helped by her status as an unknown entity, but that didn’t mean present circumstances couldn’t change. 

“How is your Huttese?” Hux asked, snapping her attention to him.

 _Huttese_ , now that was a language she wasn’t expecting. It wasn’t one of her more fluent languages for sure but she could get by if needed.

“Decent.”

“Good. Your first assignment begins in the next cycle on Nal Hutta. I will provide the hangar bay location and departure time once available.”

Mara took another deep gulp of the Alderaanian wine. It burned going down. What could the First Order possibly want on a Hutt throne world? 

She quietly considered this piece of information while slicing the Roba steak, biting back a pleasurable groan as it touched her tongue. Maker, it was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted. The protein packs and freeze dried food consumed on her father’s freighter taught her how tasteless food could be. But _this_ , this was something entirely different. The meat, dripping with juices delighted her and her eyes, despite herself, closed, savoring the taste of it going down. 

When her gaze flicked upward, she caught the General staring with an interest that wrapped her in hot shame. Was that out loud? No. It couldn’t be. The wine now pulsed in her temples. She should stop. Her gaze lasted too long. She felt trapped. She _was_ trapped.

“I take it that steak is uncommon on your planet?”

The alcohol bloomed on her cheeks in a way that was rather fetching, Hux thought.

A sheepish smile touched her lips, “Brolsam’s an agriworld. Most people are vegetarians because meat’s so expensive—with the high import tax and all.”

“Yes,” he purred, refilling both wine glasses. “The Republic loves their import taxes.”

He took a sip.

“I suppose that’s a moot point now,” she suddenly blurted, alcohol loosening her tongue too much.

“How so?” He replied without missing a beat.

She froze, lips open at the seam in unconcealable surprise. The comment needed no explanation but it seemed she had tread into uncharted waters. Another sip bought her some time.

“The Republic, the politicians, are...well, they’re—you destroyed them.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment and Mara wasn't aware of the breath trapped in her lungs until they collapsed under the pressure, air escaping through her nose.

“No. I think... _destroyed_ isn't the word. Purged. Yes, we purged them, like a parasite, from our galaxy.” His eyes turned dark and she dared not meet them, feeling the room grow smaller by the second.

“Why?” she suddenly blurted. The words leaving her mouth felt like barreling full speed toward an approaching cliff. Cognizant enough to recognize imminent danger, but too slow to stop it.

Mara cleared her throat. “Why did it…have to be purged?”

It was a silly question. She knew why. Hosnian Prime was the center of the New Republic, but that wasn't why she asked. She wanted to know, in the privacy of his own quarters, in his own words, why he obliterated five million people. She tried to play it off as an innocent question, but the gravity of it sucked the air from the room like a silent bomb going off; the only two survivors left staring into each other’s eyes through the fallout.

Suddenly his brow lowered, eyes narrowed and head turned a tick to the right as though an idea came to him.

“Allow me to propose a trade,” he declared, leaning forward, eyes glowing in low light, fork and knife clattering to his plate below. “You tell _me_ why you joined the First Order and I’ll tell you why I rendered a whole system non-existent.”

 _Non-existent._ The words rang so hollow with an almost unthinkable tinge of pride. She inwardly sneered. No matter how he cloaked himself, in all his finery and polite protocol, he was no better than any other lowlife criminal scraping the galaxy of its resources in an attempt to rule it. She fidgeted under the table, a bolt of heat shooting up her neck, whether from anger or alcohol, its origin presently indiscernible.

“Why would you want to know,” her throat constricted, voice hitching unnaturally, “—why is that important?” She would have reached for a glass of water had one existed, but instead the glass of Toniray served to clear her throat.

“Audience research,” he sipped from his own glass with infuriating aplomb. “I need to know what motivates recruitment.”

She swallowed harshly and tried to recall the exact lines from her dossier.

“I lived through the Fefze swarms of Brolsam. After the Empire left. They ruined our planet and ran us out of business. With the NR, it was all chaos until your people came and restored order. So in a way, my family is counting on it.”

There was another silence. Mara kept her gaze lowered, staring at anything but his eyes, too afraid to catch a glimmer of incredulousness there.

“I want you to answer me,” his voice lowered in a register that made her insides squirm, “...and answer truthfully.”

She blanched at the word. _Truthfully._

“What's compelled a farm girl to do this?” He seemed to take a perverse delight in reminding her of her lowly origins.

“Compelled, sir?”

“Yes.”

Mara’s eyes met the General’s, finally, and instantly knew what compelled her to go undercover for the Resistance. She had friends and family who needed her. She may never get to see the end to any of it. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe her solitary life was inconsequential in this war against the First Order, or maybe it was everything. She may never know but she couldn’t just stand by. Even death by her enemy’s hand provided a kind of solace in knowing it came through action, not apathy. She would not be some nameless, faceless pawn in a galactic power struggle between two forces, both equally impervious to the lives ground up in the machine. 

“I don’t want to be a statistic.”

“A statistic.” 

The words rolled off the General’s tongue in a way that made her shudder. 

“Ironic choice of words,” he remarked, curiously regarding what little Toniray remained in his glass before draining it completely. “I can't think of a more accurate description of Hosnian Prime.”

Mara bit the side of her tongue so hard that the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. At least the bleeding helped to bury an instinctual demand for him to provide an explanation.

“I'm afraid I don't...follow, sir.”  
  
"What if I told you I did it for peace?" he replied evenly. In an instant, a range of emotions passed over her: confusion, disbelief, horror and something else that she knew the shrewd General hadn’t missed.  
  
"And how would that be?" She finally settled on a neutral curiosity. She couldn’t imagine what mental hoops allowed that to be true, but was game to hear him out. Knowing exactly how he compartmentalized his decisions might help her better navigate his personality.

Hux carefully studied the pink tinge of her pale cheeks and the curious fire set in those dark eyes. He seemed to have struck a nerve and was all too obliged to find out what lay at the end of it.  
  
"Let's say it continues for several more years. Millions more die in a long, drawn out war that financially cripples the galaxy for decades to come, _but_ it could be ended swiftly if only a few million die in one system."  
  
"They were defenseless." Mara countered, momentarily forgetting herself, the fire in her voice no longer disguised.  
  
"More defenseless than the _billions_ who relied on them for protection?” 

The question was deceptively simple, but Mara knew care must be taken in answering it. She had already revealed too much. 

“Some would argue the Republic can’t be the protector of every planet in the galaxy.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

The retort silenced her, not daring to answer the question hanging ominously over them both. Instead, Hux filled that silence.

“The Republic wants planets to govern themselves. Fair enough, but self-government requires money and infrastructure. The Mid Rim and Core worlds, where the Republic sits, can acquire both, but the Outer Rim…” he nodded in a faux concern that made her blood boil. “...the Outer Rim—your Brolsam—helped them win their war and how are they repaying you? By hastening to lift a finger against the cartels running your planet in their absence. So kindly explain, Officer Tallion, how farmers fared against Black Sun or Crymorah?”

“What about the Resistance?” she asked, almost defiantly. 

Yes, Hux _had_ struck a nerve and now he would drive the needle in deep.

“That band of misfits was no more than the willing puppet of the Republic. Their feckless senators refused to dirty their hands, so they’ve allowed General Organa to strike out on her own—

“ _Allowed?”_

“Yes, allowed. It’s made up of ex-Republic pilots whom they’ve funneled money and ships to. Soon the Resistance will be out of both.”

“And you don’t think outward aggression will only drive their recruitment?”

“Perhaps,” Hux relented her point, taking another sip of wine, “but winning a war is not a simple matter of numbers. Economics is only half of the equation.”

“And the other half?” Mara asked, voice growing meek.

“Information,” he replied, and despite filling his glass for a third time, showed no signs of impairment. 

“The rebels flourished under the Empire’s nose because they couldn’t control the narrative. There’s more of them than us and the galaxy can’t be controlled through sheer force. Our predecessors attempted it, only to be crushed under their own weight. The First Order is leaner, more nimble and we will do what the Empire could not through strategic positioning, not military might alone. And so we _must_ control the narrative.” 

“And where does siding with the Hutts fit into that narrative? Are they not the cartels we’re supposed to be protecting the defenseless from?” 

Hux had to grant her that point. She was more clever than the simple farm girl she portrayed. And by all accounts, he should be enraged by the very discussion currently engaging him. No other officers dared debate him, as they inherently knew their proper place. Perhaps it was the wine that put him in such a lenient mood, but it felt more like a stimulating exercise in mental prowess than the trifling annoyance it should be.  
  
"The Hutts are our enemies. So is Crymorah, Black Sun, Kanjiklub and every other criminal organization operating within the galaxy.”

“Then aren’t they a threat?”

“Not if we control them.”

“Isn’t the whole point of crime to subvert authority?”

“I don’t endeavor to change their enterprise, only manipulate it to our advantage.”

“How is that any better than what the Republic did?”

“The Republic wasted time and resources fighting them when there’s a much easier way to control petty criminals.”

Mara raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to enlighten her.

“Give them exactly what they want. Make them so reliant upon us to line their pockets that their survival depends on it. Entangle them in a web of their own needs so that once they realize—if they ever realize—that it’s happened, it’s much too late. And once you have that…” He drained his glass one last time, placing it on the table, eyes flicking upward to meet her’s. "They're at your service."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, dear reader. 
> 
> Next time, the General and his interpreter embark on their first diplomatic mission. Things do not go as planned and the consequences may be dire for them both. 
> 
> Don't worry, next chapter we'll earn the E rating. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara accompanies the General on their first mission together. Things do not go as planned, forcing them to consider the unthinkable.

III.

A hammering thump jolted Mara awake. It was not a simple, polite knock as performed by the Stormtrooper, but a violent stamping, like someone with a battering ram pummeled the durasteel panel. In a sleep-filled haze, Mara sprung out of bed, wishing she had a security camera like the General as she leapt the short distance from bed to door. The chill of her compartment pricked her skin with nothing more than a regulation t-shirt and compression shorts to keep her warm.

Whoever she had expected to find beating down her door, she was unprepared for the black mask wordlessly staring her in the face. She had only seen it once and that was enough to haunt her subconscious thoughts.

A barrage of hellish images flooded through her as the room spun and she stumbled backward, unable to catch her breath. _No!_ She wasn’t sure if she had screamed or only thought it. Not that it mattered. Kylo Ren would not wait for an invitation. He stormed into her tiny quarters, instantly filling the room as he yanked her up from the floor and heaved her toward the doorway. Mara’s arm swung outward, swiping the door frame as her fingers clawed for purchase.

 _“Don’t make a scene.”_ The voice finally rumbled from within his helmet. The sharp edge of it would have mollified a lesser person, but her arms and legs burned with fear, adrenaline coursing through her veins like an animal sensing its impending death. 

With one final jerk, he stripped her fingers from the door, fingernails crunching and chipping away as he dragged her out into the hallway. She now saw two other Stormtroopers had accompanied him who did little beyond escorting Ren and herself.

“Please don’t!” she screamed, trying to dig her heels into the tiled floor, bare feet helplessly sliding across the slick surface. Her frantic gaze shot to the Stormtroopers and then to Ren who proved impervious to her cries as he prodded her forward. 

They passed through several hallways, each one noticeably empty as they appeared to be moving deeper into the belly of the _Finalizer._ At the end of one hallway, Ren guided her toward several turbo lifts, punching the down button. The lift doors opened and she was thrown inside, shoulders bracing her body as they slammed into the back wall. Ren and the two Stormtroopers followed her inside, walling her off from the exit. 

The extremely bright lift lights only heightened her claustrophobia. Ren's appearance, a dark blot against a wall of white only served to strengthen the contrast. He appeared more imposing than her memory served as she seemed to grow smaller, sinking toward the floor. 

The lift dinged at each floor it descended past, counting down to somewhere she was too terrified to think about. _There has to be a way out of here._ Mara looked toward the ceiling, above Ren’s head, spying an access panel, but before she could even formulate step two, the Stormtroopers whirled around, seizing her by each arm.

The three of them followed Ren through a pair of blast doors leading to some sort of control room. The commander peeled off and Mara’s gaze now landed on the stiff First Order uniform who waited for them. That face—that dispassionate stare appeared as cold and casual as the first time she laid eyes on him.

“Help me!” she cried, reaching out to the only person who may take pity. “I haven’t done anything, I swear!”

The General stood perfectly still. Not moving. Not speaking. Not blinking.

“We don’t deal with resistance scum,” Ren fired back, striding over to a control console and typing on its keyboard. “You’ll die like the rest of them.”

The statement unleashed a sharp pounding in her head. Its erratic pulse beat like war drums. Life raged behind her eyes, its desperate cry bursting in pupils dilated with fear. Her gut refused what her brain already knew.

“General, please! Help me!” She squirmed in the stormtrooper’s arms, trying to face her commanding General. “HELP ME!”

A beep rang out from the console, followed by a hissing as two doors depressurized, bisecting a panel before her. Just beyond the doors lay a smaller chamber with a round hatch on the opposite end, crowned by interlocking levers. 

Ren pushed her through the doors and into the chamber. They quickly slid shut behind her. Mara spun around, uselessly banging them with her fist. The levers whined as each one spun and disengaged. She screamed, her panic-stricken mind sure that eternity waited on the other side.

The chamber flooded with red light, the hatch swiveled open. Her eyes screwed shut, arms reaching out uselessly to anchor her. Her mouth opened in a scream but made no sound as the cold, lightless folds of space welcomed her with open arms. 

Every muscle and organ squeezed, wrenching themselves as if her body were sucked through a tube. Saliva boiled on her tongue and her wide eyes took in the _Finalizer’s_ airlock as it slowly slipped from her stretching fingers. Reaching desperately, as if to swim back to it. It was too late. A force set her in motion and it would not end until she collided with something else—an asteroid, space trash or until the gravity of a nearby planet sucked her lifeless body into orbit. White flashed before her vision, blinding her and she succumbed.

The light thankfully awakened her and she bolted up, fearful and disoriented. It was dark, but she was not in open space. She was in her room. In the _Finalizer._ Her door was still closed and Kylo Ren had not paid her a visit as far as she could tell. 

_You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine._ The words bleated through her mind like a neon sign. White light flashed again, now coming from her bedside table. Bleary-eyed, she searched for the cool, glass edge of her datapad. Pulling it into bed with her, she read the notification through a squinty-eyed haze.

_Hangar 7. Bay 1. We depart at 0600 hours—sharp._

_Gen. Hux_

_“Fuck!”_

She catapulted out of bed, throwing the covers back and frantically peeling away her Order-issued sleepwear as she retrieved her garment bag from it’s hook on the door. Inside hung her jacket and the two options presented to female officers: pants or a skirt for warm weather conditions. Despite the sexist nature of it, she was grateful for the option considering Nal Hutta’s desert climate.

She stepped into her skirt for the first time, zipped up the calf boots and shrugged on the cropped jacket, fingers flying up the hidden hook and eye closures as she dashed into the hallway. Movements deemed undignified as running were probably not tolerated on the _Finalizer,_ so she instead settled for a purposeful, but hurried strut toward the turbo lifts. 

The sigh of two blast doors mimicked her own in relief as they opened to a steel gangway leading out to the cavernous hangar. Her memory served well this time. The tiny, suspended bridge provided ample view of the entire hangar and for a moment, the overwhelming disbelief of what lay before her rendered her still. Nearly a hundred First Order personnel scrambled around each bay. Screaming twin ion engines filled the hangar as TIE fighters took off. Officers shouted orders. Stormtroopers marched in time. No sign of General Hux anywhere.

“So you _are_ capable of punctuality.”

Mara nearly jumped at the sound of his voice coming from behind her. She expected a scowl from the man in question, but instead his usually stern face appeared surprisingly neutral as he joined her at the gangway railing, no doubt surveying his dominion with pride.

“In the absence of Commander Ren, yes.”

Saying his name aloud only birthed scenes from her nightmare. His mask reduced to a sliver between two closing doors.

“A valid excuse as any aboard this ship,” he replied drolly, “Follow me, officer.” 

Without ceremony, he turned and descended the metal staircase down into the hangar floor towards one of the docking bays. 

Docked in bay two was a ship that in all her travels, Mara had never seen before. All black with wings resting upward toward the hangar ceiling. It resembled a giant mynock lying in wait.

As they approached, every Stormtrooper, technician and officer froze in salute, acknowledging the General with a curt “sir!” Hux answered their formalities with a casual nod as they walked between two columns of Stormtroopers leading to the boarding ramp. Even Mara, whose military experience spanned the very informal Resistance, marveled at the deference shown to her commanding General.

Once inside, she couldn’t help but gape at the command shuttle’s opulence. Every surface gleamed, so very unlike the often dusty and dented shuttles of the Resistance. General Organa had always suspected the First Order was well funded, but even this level of luxury was perhaps beyond _her_ wildest guesses. Hux paid no mind to her obvious gawking, no doubt attributing it to her humble beginnings. Instead, he sat in one of the plush command chairs of the spacious main deck and pulled out a datapad from the armrest’s pocket.

“Lieutenant Tovar, report.” He addressed the pilot, eyes never leaving the datapad as his fingers flicked through messages. 

“The time is o-five hundred hours and fifty-eight minutes,” the pilot reported, never turning to look at the General as he sat in the captain’s chair, flipping levers in preparation for take off. 

“We will depart at exactly o-six hundred hours. Flight time is four standard hours. Barring any unforeseen complications, we are due planetside on Nal Hutta at ten hundred hours. If all passengers are aboard, sir, we will prepare for takeoff.”

Mara peered around as the ship rumbled beneath her feet. Besides the pilot, it appeared they were the only two passengers. The lack of support personnel was curious. Surely a high-ranking General traveled with a cadre of other officers or guards at all times?

Her gaze fell back to the General who sat with one long leg gracefully folded over the other, foot swinging subconsciously as he languidly scrolled down the datapad. All business.

Mara cleared her throat and his harsh eyes immediately snapped to her attention. “...uhm...Sir?”

“Yes, officer?” he replied, gaze now returning to the datapad. 

The ship lurched forward, engaging the repulsorlifts and Mara ungainly fell into the seat across from him. She peered out her viewport to see officers, technicians and Stormtroopers disappear as if the ship stood still and everything around it were sucked into a vacuum. 

“The Stormtroopers—I thought—are they not accompanying us?”

“No peaceful negotiation came at the end of a blaster,” he replied evenly, tapping on the datapad’s surface. 

Peace. _Right._ Peaceful usually springs to mind when thinking of an organization that just blew up an entire system.

“Yes sir, but Nal Hutta—it’s crawling with criminals. Our uniforms look like nothing but credits to them.”

The General’s chest rose, breathing in and tilting his head ever so slightly while retiring the datapad to a small folding table attached to his command chair. Now she had his full attention. Mara froze, almost afraid to blink as his unforgiving gaze swept over her. It was impossible to tell what he thought of her. Disgust? Disappointment? Amusement? It was the mystery that unsettled her most.The way he looked at her, so detached, almost inhuman as his voice assumed a perfectly uniform pitch.

“There are two things I demand from all who serve under me.” He sat up straighter, folding both hands neatly together. Mara shot up too, ramrod straight, subconsciously mimicking him in a reminder of her status and circumstances. She was the lowly officer and he the commanding General.

“The first is to obey my commands, _unequivocally_.”

He was angry then. She resisted the urge to touch her neck as a flush ran through her from the gaze that pinned her down. The chair’s cool leather shocked her feverish skin and her fingers dug into the armrests, subconsciously inching away from him.

“The second, is to trust in the capabilities of your commanding officer who does not make decisions lightly...Do I make myself clear?”

The answer came in a near whimper. 

“Yes.”

He raised a solitary eyebrow, as if waiting, and a flush crept to her cheeks when she realized what for.

“...Sir.”

This was not going well so far. Insulting him would definitely not earn his trust and she needed it. The Resistance depended on it and since conversation wasn’t doing her any favors, she elected to stay quiet for the remainder of the trip.

Following her superior’s lead, she spent the next two hours glued to her datapad, reading over the dossier regarding their mission. Her personality certainly wasn’t winning him over, but if his own personal achievements were any indication, he clearly respected results over adulation anyway. If she remained careful and helped him successfully negotiate this fuel trade with—she checked the stated objective—Progga the Hutt—these early indiscretions could be a distant memory.

Mara had finally settled comfortably into the silence when movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye. The General put away his datapad and instead produced a small case, bisecting it like an ancient papered book. The hinged case lay open in front of him, revealing a surface etched in black and white block pattern. Mara couldn’t help but observe, fascinated, as he produced tiny, molded pieces, which he lined up on opposite sides of the board until each set, one colored black and the other white, mirrored one another.

His gaze flicked to her suddenly. Heat flushed through her, embarrassed by her open survey of him. Her eyes fell to a blank datapad where they stayed trained until he finally spoke.

“Do you like games, officer?”

“Yes, sir.” Her response sounded terribly unsure. She wondered if that was the right answer.

“Then you may join me, if it interests you.”

Mara suppressed an instinct to scramble out of her seat, it’s origin lying in a desperation that disgusted her. She paused instead, considering the invitation. _If it interests you?_ Was it a request or just a directive disguised as one?

When she finally met his gaze, it was one of casual indifference, as if her decision truly mattered not. So Mara casually switched off her datapad and moved to the command chair next to him, swiveling it to face the board.

“It’s called Shah-tezh. Are you familiar with it?”

Mara meekly nodded, looking down at her row of black figurines. It sounded exotic and certainly nothing like Galactic Expansion or any of the juvenile board games she played as a kid.

“Perhaps the more common dejirak, then,” he offered.

The way it rolled off his tongue— _common—_ struck her as subtly condescending, but she indicated that yes, she had indeed played dejirak before.

“The board is called the demesne and the object of the game is to capture this piece.”

He picked up one of his own white figurines, shaped like that of a hooded man donning a long robe. As he held it up, Mara noticed its yellowed discoloration, as if it were part of a much older set. Perhaps the original piece was lost and replaced, though the idea of her impeccable General playing with mismatched game pieces seemed ludicrous considering the perfection expected in every other inch of his life.

“The Imperator.” He replaced it on the back row, center column. “Once the piece is taken, the game is over.”

“What about the others?”

“From left to right,” he pointed to each piece as he named them, “Beast, Counselor, Craft, Disciple, Imperator, Dowager, Knight, Vizier, Outcast. Each of their moves are the same as dejirak. The Vizier moves diagonally, the Knight two steps at a time, Outcast one step and so on.”

Mara breathed in deeply, surveying her pieces and solidifying his instructions, though it became immediately clear any attempt at strategy was useless against him. Within two moves he captured her Knight and within two more, the Outcast. Disappointment bubbled in her throat and despite her best attempts to quell it, a grunt of annoyance escaped as he plucked her Dowager from the board.

She picked up her own Vizier, intent on pursuing his Knight. Just as she considered the exact square, her gaze flickered up to catch an amused gleam in those ice-blue eyes and her hand froze, suspended above the demesne.

Hux followed the line of her gaze, his own stare falling down to her pink pout, bottom lip pulled ever so slowly between her teeth. Her soft lips glistened with wet. His upward glance was met with challenge dancing in her eyes, equal parts keen and coy.

“Can I get a hint?” Her eyebrow raised in an expectant look as a suppressed smile formed on those lips in a way Hux found undeniably charming.

He pulled back, sinking into his chair, leisurely folding one leg over the other and cocking his head in a display of mock consideration. “And why should I grant such an advantage?”

The icy glint in his stare raised the hair on her neck.

“Because…” Her voice hitched impishly, “you want to show mercy?”

A sardonic smile was his response, slinky and self-assured.

“Then you haven't a clue about me.”

“But I could convince you?” she fired back.

There were in fact many ways General Hux could be convinced and none of them appropriate for public consumption.

“Are you practicing for Progga?” He plucked up one of her captured pieces, dangling it between his dexterous fingers and rolling languorously around his knuckles. “Because I assure you, a Hutt will seize that offer in ways you will find most unpleasant.”

He raised the piece to his chin, pressing the tip to one marble-pink lip, dragging it against the seam in thought. She swallowed, her own mouth running dry. 

“... _please.”_

Hux sucked in a sigh dramatically and if one were viewing it in a certain light, perhaps a tad playful as well. He leaned forward now. Before she could jerk away, his gloved fingers wrapped around her slender wrist, positioning her hand above the leftmost space she currently hovered. Her gaze rose meekly, face burning as he held it for an unnecessarily long time. His piercing eyes pricked her skin. She felt exposed and something else she wouldn’t quite name.

“There.”

With lip caught between her teeth, she placed the Vizier in the space chosen by Hux. He plucked his Knight from its line of defense, pointedly skipping over his own pieces and capturing it in a way that was obviously premeditated.

“You tricked me!” she barked, flinging back into her chair in a particularly childish display. She didn’t care about winning. What he did was cruel, taking advantage of her under the guise of help, only to maneuver her piece where it was easier for him to capture. 

“Let that be a lesson.”

“To not trust you?”

“Careful.” The exacting look he shot back physically withered her, the response wielding a sharpness that cut deeper than she was comfortable acknowledging. “To never trust your _opponent_.” 

“Sir,” piped in the pilot as if he were waiting for an opportune moment, “We’ll be making planet fall at Bilbousa spaceport in time minus ten minutes.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He turned back to Mara. “We’ll finish this another time,” he clipped, swiping the pieces away and folding up the board. Mara was thankful for the disruption as the General’s deceit had put her in an irritable mood.

She swiveled to face the viewport instead, where stars stood still, indicating a drop into realspace. The ship circled above the swamp planet’s rings, dipping down and slicing through the atmosphere's thick, yellowish clouds.

Under the dense, acidic veil, everything appeared dark and hazy. Yellow fog swirled around their feet and clung to lamp lights and neon business signs, all written in Huttese. The bazaar surrounding the spaceport rose up from rows of giant pustules serving as merchant trading stalls.

With shallow breaths, Mara fought to keep the putrid fog from filling her lungs. She and the General had only arrived a few moments ago and already a sheen of sweat dampened the skin beneath her uniform. Her superior, however, appeared completely unperturbed by the dense atmosphere, forging a path through the crowds of Rodians, Biths, Dugs and Gamorreans loitering in the city square. Conversely, the fetid surroundings only served to sharpen General Hux’s impeccable appearance, as if an invisible barrier separated him from everything else which could not possibly measure up. 

Mara knew better than to make eye contact with any sentients. Instead, she trained her gaze on the General, whose copper hair rendered him easily visible in a crowd of aliens. She followed in his wake, slipping through gaps in the crowd, which only grew denser as they penetrated the middle. His flash of hair suddenly disappeared from view, abruptly blocked by the pig-nosed snout of a Gamorrean barricading her way.

“Excuse me,” Mara squeaked, unable to conjure the phrase in Gamorrean. She wondered if such a polite sentiment even existed in their lexicon. The answer became clear as the green, hairless mass remained unmoved. He grunted instead, the furious pitch jerking her and bashing her head into something equally unforgiving. Two impossibly strong hands encircled each arm, pulling her back, pressing her against jagged studs coating another Gamorrean’s armor. An ear-splitting shriek tore from her throat, shouting the first name that sprung to mind.

“HUX!”

Realizing their mistake, a meaty hand muffled her screams as they dragged her in the opposite direction, but it proved too late. Mara’s captor found himself on the barrel end of a First Order sidearm. On the opposite end stood the General, a portrait of deadly calm as the safety flipped under his thumb, the punctuation mark to a silent threat. The Gamorrean froze. Other bazaar patrons pushed past, some cast curious glances before scurrying away. 

Desperate breath filled her lungs. Whether the Gamorrean felt truly threatened or decided she wasn’t worth the effort mattered not. The meaty arms holding her withdrew with a snort, no words needed to understand what should happen if he chose otherwise. 

Fear rendered her helpless as bazaar patrons swirled around them. Short, desperate huffs vibrated her uniform. Wordlessly, he pulled her by the arm, drawing her astride as they marched away. Too stunned to speak or think, she numbly followed the General’s guiding hand, resisting the urge to reach out and hold on to _his_ arm in return.

“Stay sharp.” He finally spoke, voice dripping with officiousness. “In this part of the galaxy, an attractive human female would fetch a small fortune for any enterprising individuals such as our friends back there.”

Mara was gobsmacked. The threat of slavery hung over her and he felt now would be an appropriate time to give a lecture on caution. 

“And you will address me properly or not at all. It’s sir or General to you. Nothing else.”

He surely noticed her tensing tricep under grip but chose to ignore it as she silently fumed beside him. So consumed by her anger and with eyes plastered to the ground, she hardly noticed when he stopped them both in front of a rather large grouping of pustules outside the city square. The strange outcroppings serving as dwellings brought a grimace to her face. 

“Try schooling your expressions,” Hux drawled, “Obvious disgust will only undermine us.” 

Mara flinched at his criticism. As much as she needed to impress him for the sake of her mission, something visceral shot through her at every reproach.

His grip finally dropped from her arm and Mara found herself missing the pressure there as she followed him into Progga the Hutt’s _palace,_ if it could be called that. The outside doors led to a primitive receiving hall where they were met by a Vodran, as evident by his scaly skin and the horns encircling his eye sockets. 

“Welcome, General Hux and Officer Tallion of the First Order. My name is X’jan Jiktar and I am the majordomo to Master Progga. I must ask that you surrender any weapons before proceeding beyond this point.”

There was an apprehensive beat. Mara clasped her hands behind herself to disguise their nervous wringing. She stole a furtive glance at the General, who paused as well before slowly reaching for the sidearm that had already diffused one tense situation. While the General’s earlier sentiments echoed in her head, she couldn’t help but feel especially uneasy at this particular condition.

 _No decision is made lightly,_ she repeated to herself, taking solace in her superior’s second rule as Jiktar’s claws wrapped around the pistol.

“Excellent,” the Vodran’s lips spread to reveal a craggy range of teeth as he opened the second pair of doors.

A gust of hot steam greeted them from the entryway. Mara fought the urge to latch on to her superior’s arm like a frightened child as they pierced the moisture veil. She could only imagine the unforgiving scowl fired in her direction should she attempt such a silly endeavor.

Mara grew up hearing lurid tales of the company a Hutt keeps, but they did nothing to prepare her for this. The steam evaporated, revealing a retinue of alien races lounging on cushions spread across the floor. Many indulged in chalices, smoking hookahs, suffocating her with swirling smog as she took in her surroundings. The General, on the other hand, ignored the nearly naked Twi’lek slave clearly vying for his attention. Her swiveling hips invited indulgence. But General Hux was not the typical dignitary calling on this court. He had not come to drink, or smoke or partake in any vice unnecessary to his mission. No, that disciplined gaze blocked out anything and everything deemed unworthy of his attention in order to focus on the target lounging at the center of it all: Progga.

The minor crime lord was a Hutt of monstrous proportions, for which the raised dais he laid upon only served to embellish. Beneath him, scrolled grates aerated his skin, leaving a dewy sheen over the rolls of brown, wrinkled dermis. Upon spotting the two human visitors, Progga clapped his tiny hands, signaling a cease to all festivities carried out by the court.

Mara nearly shivered under the weight of the court’s collective gaze. Steam obscured their faces, clinging hotly to the loose hairs brushing the back of her neck. She waited patiently for the General to provide directions, but to her surprise, it was Progga who spoke first.

 _“Welcome to my court General Armitage Hux of the First Order.”_ He gargled in his native tongue. _“Had I known we were to be in the presence of a female of your species, I would have had the slaves bathe me, but alas...Now who is this delectable specimen you’ve brought me?”_

Mara resisted the urge to look around, wondering to whom the Hutt referred until it became clear he was addressing her. She failed to suppress the sneer pulling at her bottom lip. A few courtiers chuckled at the desperate look flashed to her superior whose countenance remained as stony as ever, completely impervious to the taunt lobbed at his interpreter.

Choosing to brush it off, Mara immediately translated the greeting in basic, albeit with slight differences. 

_“The General would first like to thank you on behalf of the First Order for allowing us to meet with your greatness. My name is Officer Mara Tallion and I am the personal interpreter to General Hux—_

_“Interpreter—is that what your people call them?”_ Progga heaved a chuckle, his large belly quaking with amusement and the General shot a baffled look in Mara’s direction. She could only mirror her superior, innocent to their host’s allusions.

_“Humans. Always trying to be clever. Maybe it’s fitting. Both professions require a skilled tongue, wouldn’t you agree?”_

_Both?_

Mara’s eyes blew wide as understanding suddenly dawned on her.

 _“I’m not a…I’m not a courtesan, if that’s what you mean.”_

_“No? A shameful waste of your…”_ His greedy eyes raked over her astonished face. “... _talents. Though we call them what they are—pleasure slaves. Come closer, my pet, let Progga have a look at you.”_

Her desperate gaze darted between the General and Progga, caught between obeying and wishing for interference. But interference meant translation and Mara would rather die than explain the request to General Hux.

She took two small steps forward, looking up at the bulbous alien from beneath lowered lashes. His large, bulging eyes, yellow like everything in Nal Hutta, rolled up and down her form, appraising her as one surveys prized chattel.

 _“Yesss. Beautiful human.”_ Progga hissed, rolls folding as he sunk down toward her. She instinctively leaned away from his giant, marbled eyes which drank in every inch of her face and elsewhere. She fought the urge to violently recoil from the rivulets of drool pooling in the corners of his mouth. 

She instead folded her arms, shielding her body from view and swallowed thickly, mouth running dry from the lascivious scrutiny. _“Such silky hair…”_ His greasy eyelids fell as a smile spread his face. “ _Mhmmm...I can imagine it slipping through my fingers while those pink lips stretch around my fat cock.”_

Mara froze, too stunned at the words dripping from his gaping mouth to register the slimy hand caressing her cheek. It left behind a greasy mark and she jumped away from his touch. Wheezy laughter erupted at the fright reflecting in her eyes, welling with flustered tears she furiously wished to suppress.

_“It’s much larger than a human’s...even a General’s...”_

Mara retreated in earnest now, desperate to put more distance between her and the disgusting Hutt, stopping short of cowering behind General Hux. 

_“Yes, run back to your precious General. How he must preen with you by his side. Though I question his judgement—dressing you in black when you’d look much better dripping in white.”_

Her face burned, mortified and suddenly unable to focus or even look at Progga. She felt the leers and sneers of the Hutt court fall on her back. She could only imagine what the General must have thought, standing beside her, oblivious to the exchange but able to read her ashen face clearly.

 _He means to intimidate you,_ a rational voice bubbled up from the panic rising within her, threatening to crash overhead and she held onto that explanation like a lifeline. This was just some sick, chauvinistic sideshow designed to derail negotiations. 

Mara breathed a sense of calm through her body and her eyes found his again. The words they taught her to repeat under duress came back with sharp clarity: _The Resistance will not be intimidated._

_“I was brought here to negotiate a trade for the fuel reserves in your possession. Since we arrived, you’ve shown little interest. So tell me, your greatness, do you insist on wasting the General’s time any further?”_

Progga let out another wheezy laugh and the sound of it only hardened Mara’s resolve.

_“So the tooke has claws. Good. I like a little fire—_

_“I suggest you turn your attention to the matter at hand. Any more wasted time will be deducted from the generosity of our conditions.”_

_“Yes, the fuel reserves.”_ Progga sighed dramatically, clearly less interested in their intended topic of discussion. _“It takes a lot of fuel to power all those ships the First Order has hanging around the galaxy. And what could you possibly have to tempt me?”_

Progress. The muscles tightened around Mara’s mouth, suppressing a self-satisfied grin at the successful pivot.

_“For one, we have an army. We can offer protection—_

_“From what?”_ He barked impudently.

_“From other kajidics who seek to control your resources.”_

_“Pah! You’re about three hundred years too late, my dear. Our kajidic has retained power without any help from the mighty First Order. And as you may have heard, all Hutts are operating under the New Law, which has brought an unprecedented truce among our clans.”_

Progga proved more resistant than they had anticipated. Clearly, the First Order expected negotiations to end at a promise of protection. Their strategy hinged on the commodity becoming more precious as violence in the Outer Rim ratched up. But protection meant nothing to the Hutts, who clearly didn't need it.

_“What if we offered to install you as ruler on a new planet?”_

Mara knew this bargaining chip was empty. Even if the First Order permitted such a thing, any planet handed over to a Hutt was strategically unimportant at best or a barren wasteland at worst. Despite the caveat, she could see the gears turning in Progga’s head, rusty as they may be, he was clearly interested. All he needed was a little grease for the wheels.

 _“One that you wouldn’t have to share with other kajidics. Free to subjugate the native people as you wish.”_ Her eyes fell to the Twi’lek seated on a Gamorrean’s lap, the self-righteousness found in her earlier rallying cry instantly dissipating.

_“I need evidence of this planet.”_

_“We don’t have one ear-marked, but let us come back to you with recommendations once a contract is signed. The First Order is taking control of more planets as we speak—_

_“Going to be hard to control them without fuel. You humans always assume you’re more clever than the Hutts! I know most of your fuel reserves went up in flames along with your precious weapon and now you’re desperate.”_

Progga’s gaze finally turned on the General, as if noticing him for the first time. _“Face it, General, you gambled and lost.”_

Thankful her superior wasn’t fluent in Huttese, Mara turned as well, every muscle tense, knowing the General caught wind of the outcome before she even spoke.

“He’s refused every offer,” she whispered, biting her lip in an attempt to quell her mounting fear at the General’s disdain. His lips pursed and calculating gaze fell to the floor in a moment of contemplative silence.

“Find out what he wants,” he replied, gaze hardened and Mara was unsure which of the two parties more deserved her fear.

_“The General asks that you name your requirement for negotiations to continue.”_

_“You,”_ Progga replied instantly, the prospect of it clearly a forethought.

The whole world seemed to stop. Mara froze before Progga, the General and the entire court, blinking stupidly, unsure if she understood the garbled Huttese. Sweat pebbled beneath her stiff uniform collar, rolling down between her shoulder blades and an eternity passed before her tiny voice hitched in response.

_“Me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“As your interpret-”_

_“As my slave. What does your General have to say to that?”_

The suggestion left her too stunned to be outraged. Hutt slaves were the disenfranchised from conquered lands, not officers lost in a negotiation.

“What is the stipulation?” The General pressed, chin tucked sternly toward his collar. 

“He...he…”

“My patience is thin, Tallion.”

The words finally rushed forward, all at once: “He wants you to relinquish me. To the kajidic.”

“Relinquish—

“As their,” the word felt heavy falling from her lips, “slave.”

Mara couldn’t bring herself to look at the General out of shame, but also fear that his face may reveal a truth she wasn’t ready to bear. She had not worked under him for very long but knew he prized practically above sentiment. Perhaps he was weighing his options now. For him, an interpreter would be worth thousands of gallons of fuel. No one would miss her and she could be easily replaced—

“Then we have nothing to offer you.” The General replied directly to Progga, voice oddly calm and chin high in defiance. Whipping her head to the side, Mara’s mouth fell aghast at his words, futilely attempting to recompose herself.

His refusal stemmed from pride, not generosity. It was nothing more than a manifested need to control those who dare challenge him, Mara knew, but was still surprised nonetheless. General Armitage Hux of the First Order would not be pushed around by some petty crime lord. With mouth drawn tight and eyes boring holes into Progga, he spat his last words. 

“Translate, officer.”

Mara took a deep breath.

_“The General...cannot concede to your demands and does not wish to continue further discussions on the matter.”_

“We’re finished here. Come, officer.” The General issued the command in an irritated clip, the edge of threat ever present. Mara stayed a step behind him, keenly aware of her role in this failure and terrified of what awaited her back aboard the command shuttle.

 _“You do have something to offer me!”_ Progga shouted and the court devolved into a heckling mob, shouting and spitting at their backs. 

The General refused to acknowledge the irate Hutt, confidently striding away. His slow pace belied any sense of urgency. Mara however, stopped and turned in a moment of weakness, the possibility of saving the situation pulling at her subconscious. Instead of answering, two Vodrans stepped forward, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her toward Progga, her screams masked by the raucous throng.

The General had almost reached the antechamber doors when a tinkling sound, like a chain unraveling followed a piercing scream. He turned to see his officer hauled onto the small platform where Progga laid, two Vodrans pushing her into his grubby arms, an ornate slave collar clamped around her delicate neck.

Progga cemented her against his pulpous body and she recoiled at the hand snaking to her waist. Her desperate, pleading look went unanswered. If the bold statement produced a visceral reaction from Hux, he refused to show it. Instead, his gloved hand flexed, grasping the empty space where a sidearm once hung. Mara swallowed harshly, the metal collar unyieldingly tight as her throat expanded. Where moments before the hall devolved into chaos, it was now deadly quiet, the atmosphere charged with anxious electricity.

“How _dare_ you lay a hand on my personnel.”

The General stalked the length of the audience chamber, slowly, barely bridled fury reflecting in stiff strides. He came to a stop before Progga, posture straight as an arrow, head snapped at attention. His fury was not directed at her, but she trembled before it all the same. Were the circumstances different, perhaps the ice in his eyes would inspire awe, but in Progga’s grubby arms, she felt nothing but a keen desperation, like a cornered animal. 

_“Hardly your personnel now, General. This collar,”_ his fingers left greasy prints on it, dragging down to her collarbone, _“marks her as mine—doesn’t she look delicious?”_

Without so much a glance in her direction, Hux ground his next words through a clenched jaw, eyes burning with rage.

“Officer, tell this ungrateful slug that it is in his best interest to remove himself from your person at once.”

Mara swallowed, craning her neck to speak directly to her captor. _“The General demands that you release me.”_

_“Your General can demand all he wants but from where I sit, you’re mine now and I intend to enjoy you.”_

To emphasize her new ownership, Progga yanked the chain attached at her neck, wrenching her closer, his tongue slithering out and straying up her exposed skin. She groaned in protest, straining her neck in a futile attempt to inch away as the sluggish organ laved her cheek, leaving behind a trail of saliva, skin crawling in its wake.

_“It may disgust you now my dear, but I promise, once it’s lapping your sweet cunt, you’ll beg me for it.”_

“Enough!” The General barked, stepping toward the dais, his advancement swiftly cut by the long barrel of a heavy blaster pistol. 

_“Do you know what this is?”_ Progga taunted, holding the blaster steady as his roving tongue swiped the skin behind her ear. Mara shook her head, mouth hanging open in horror.

 _“It’s called a Dragoneye Reaper.”_ He explained and she felt something long and fleshy slithering up her ankle. _“Favored by the Wookies. And if your General takes another step, it’ll blow that perfectly-coiffed head clean off.”_

Progga’s thick tail threaded between her legs and she squeezed them in response, attempting to clamp them shut but the strength of his turgid muscle sliding further up her thighs forced them open. 

“Pity that you seek to destroy the goodwill bestowed by the First Order. I assure you the retribution levied will far outweigh a single slave.”

Mara translated with trembling lips. Progga gargled a response, his tail climbing higher, caressing her cloth-covered sex. 

“He says this isn't—isn't about the slave. Me. This is about the First Order. And how they’ve treated the Hutts in their ascent to power. They want damages.”

“Then he may have them, but _my_ interpreter is not a reparation.” The General’s lips curled in displeasure and she couldn’t help but marvel at the surety in his voice, as if he were not staring down the end of a blaster.

Despite the very real possibility of dying for the Resistance, Mara never thought it would be like _this_. She had always thought—always assumed her death would be quick, relatively painless and completely unexpected. It would be a normal day, sipping caf, sitting at her desk, writing an after action report. Keys clicking away, much like all the days that came before it. And then it happens. _Boom._ The underground bunker crumbling down around her. Her untimely demise carried out by a boulder or permacrete slab, falling without malice or care, the weight crushing her as the result of an enemy raid. Even her wildest imagination couldn’t have conjured _these_ circumstances—as part of a botched negotiation with a Hutt who planned to make her his sex slave. 

“Stay back,” she said in a strangled sob, the reality hitting her like the boulder of her nightmares.

The lip-less slit serving as Progga’s mouth curled into a revolting smile.

“I’m not yours to command,” the General snapped, stepping forward, daring the Hutt to make good on his promise. 

_“I admire your balls, General. I must admit I hadn’t expected that from a prim elitist...but in the end, your brains will look the same as any coward’s sprayed across the floor...though perhaps I should spare you long enough to watch me sink into her tight slit. I_ do _enjoy an audience.”_

Progga raised the heavy pistol, training it on the General’s cavelier grimace. He did not stand back. His movements were swift and unflinching, graced with an eerie poise as he stepped forward, pressing his temple straight into the wide, domed muzzle.

With head lowered and eyes raised beneath the barrel’s shadow, his words came out no louder than a whisper. “I will grant you one chance—and only one—to ensure your miserable existence continues. The choice is yours.”

Except it _wasn’t._

The crime lord’s wandering hands brought the Dragoneye within Mara’s reach. All she had to do was swing. She could derail the shot. Or knock the blaster from his grasp completely. The moment of distraction would allow Hux time to...do _something._ But then another, competing thought came to her.

Or she could do nothing at all. 

Wasn’t that her mission? To aid in his demise by any means possible? And here, of all places, was her chance. All she had to do was stand there and let some petty criminal annihilate the single most influential General of the First Order. And all she had to do was _nothing_.

Before she could think longer on it, Progga’s fat fingers squeezed the trigger. Her eyes flew shut. The heavy blaster squealed and her eyes pried open. Debris rained down from the ceiling above. The dust cleared and out of it, General Hux emerged, head intact, lunging onto the platform. He knocked Progga's elbow, the fleshy forearm swung back, folding back like a switchblade on itself. His other hand bound the Hutt’s wrist, the barrel lodged beneath the giant slug’s neck.

Mara’s horrified reflection mirrored in Progga’s giant, glassy eyes, wide with fear and the revelation that a human face, crowned in copper, would be the last sentient he ever laid eyes on.

_“You brought this upon yourself.”_

As the words left Hux’s lips, she glimpsed his clear blue gaze. Those ruthless, piercing eyes penetrated her soul, sending a shudder through her body.

Someone screamed. Mara was so close she could see the blaster bolt charging from the barrel as it launched. The Hutt’s head exploded like a squeezed grape, viscera shooting up and falling through the grates below. She couldn't look as the body flew back from her, the kick back swift and violent. Rooted to the spot, she stood, drenched in sweat and blood and the Hutt’s entrails. The General's full lips moved, forming words, but the ringing in her ears drowned them out. 

Mara stepped forward, the sudden tension of the chained collar snapping her back. Her hands instinctively flew upward, uselessly clawing at the metal ring. 

“Stand back,” the General roared, charging the reaper again, aiming it at the metal hinge chaining her to Progga’s dias. A blast and the pin flew off, it’s metal _tink_ ringing through the chaos. Mara grabbed the chain’s slack, the heat from molten links palpable even through her uniform as she gathered it up.

Hux grabbed her arm, jerking her off the dais. She tripped in a feverish haze. His aftershave swept under her nose, pulse fluttering as she crashed into him. For a split second, she expected him to push her away, but instead he pressed her against him, her hair brushed his collar, his heart beating wildly against her ear. Or maybe it was her own, echoing in her head. His other arm drew Progga’s blaster across them both, firing warning shots toward the courtiers who fled like frightened tookes. 

In the scramble, no one dared impede their departure as they emerged from the rioting crowd. It was fortunate considering Mara could hardly hurry while lugging around several pounds of metal.

Once outside, they dipped into a nearby alcove, flattening themselves against a shop threshold, watching the remnants of Progga’s court scramble past. Mara screwed her eyes shut, trying and failing to calm her breathing as the world spun around her, lungs gasping for breath as she clawed his uniform front, the impossibly smooth surface offering a semblance of safety in a hurricane of chaos.

“Good work,” he whispered into her ear.

“What?” she answered in a daze, canting up at him. What she found there was not the stern, disinterested glare he casually reserved for anyone caught in his sights, but something akin to pride. A softness she had least expected from the General. She snapped at the sight of it, suddenly desperate to create space in the tiny alcove, pressing her back to the opposite side.

“Knocking the blaster.” He nodded, a suppressed smirk pulling at the corner of his pert mouth. “Well done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Mara confronts her superior over a horrifying revelation. The General thinks her insubordination requires a lesson.
> 
> See you next week, where we'll see just what Hux has in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara confronts the General after discovering the truth. The General punishes her for her insubordination.

IV.

She let him _live_. When the moment of inaction came; when she could have let the Resistance win—here, now, in this remote corner of the galaxy, she _chose_ to help him. And for what? To save herself from certain depravity from the Hutts?

The General shifted across from her, raising his wrist comm as he barked into it. “Tovar, come in.”

Mara’s palate flooded, saliva collecting under her tongue. She swallowed viciously, praying to the Maker that she not throw up in the cramped doorway. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ she whispered, tears squeezing from the corner of her eyes.

“Pardon?” The General suddenly looked down at her, unsure if he understood the words coming from her. She didn’t repeat herself. The apology was not for him, but for whatever deity watched over the Resistance. She had already failed.

Tovar’s voice suddenly broke out over the comm. “Transmission received, General. Proceed.”

“Prepare the shuttle for immediate take off. We depart as soon as Officer Tallion and I board.”

“Copy that, sir.”

A haze descended upon Mara that divorced her from her senses as the General escorted her back to the command shuttle. Her will was not her own, like the limp limbs of a marionette, only springing to life when her superior pulled at her strings, directing her where to go through the yellow smog. It all happened so fast that she was surprised to see the command shuttle’s flood lights pouring over them in a matter of minutes.

Once aboard, the General immediately fired off several orders to Tovar who engaged the repulsorlifts and commenced take off. The shuttle lurched and Mara gripped the back of a command chair to steady herself as layers of atmosphere peeled back with their ascension. The General stood, towering over Tovar as he spoke into a comlink on the navigation console.

“Command bridge, come in.”

“Command bridge reporting, go ahead sir.”

“Dispatch a First Order Security Bureau unit to Nal Hutta immediately. That’s sector...”

“S-12,” Mara responded automatically, information memorized years ago surprisingly retrievable in a mind clouded by crisis.

“S-12,” the General repeated into the commlink.

“Of course, sir.”

“We need to clean up this mess. Have a communications officer draft a statement immediately. Our envoy encountered an incident in the course of negotiations. The target expired…”

“ _Expired_ , sir?”

“Yes. A bounty hunter dispatched our target. Sent by the Anjiliac kajidic.”

 _A bounty hunter?_ The words cut through the fog currently muddling her mind. 

“Were there other witnesses, sir?”

“Only slaves and low level courtiers. FOSB can take care of that. I’ll submit a report in due time, but I expect a draft of that statement on my desk when I arrive _._ ”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Good, over and out.”

The General turned and Mara scrambled to look as if she had not just eavesdropped on his communications. A chill shot up her spine, a delayed reaction from the earlier trauma. Her hands shook. Her eyes screwed shut, tighter, and her knees folded up under her chin, trying to hold on to herself, to anything. Her whole body trembled, horrified to see the man in her mind sitting across from her, studying her with a thoughtful gaze. She wondered how she must look to him, uniform torn, stained with sweat and blood, wisps of hair falling around the Huttese slave collar still encircling her neck. Unsatisfactory, no doubt.

“You have a concern,” he stated simply.

The General’s assessment left her scurrying for an acceptable response. 

“The collar…” she gestured to the remaining chain in her hand.

“A fusioncutter will make short work of it when we return to the _Finalizer.”_

Mara shuddered at the thought of other officers staring in thinly-veiled curiosity at the girl walking First Order hallways with a slave collar around her neck. 

“...but that's not _it_ , is it?”

 _It_ was the General’s inscrutable motives that concerned her most. The invitation for discussion was a rare and valuable opportunity but appearing too inquisitive would raise alarm. If she only voiced interest as a response to his question though...perhaps it wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“That statement…” Mara began her response without knowing the end. How could one politely describe a complete falsehood?

“Is a re-framing of the truth,” he finished for her.

“Progga threatened you, so why try to change it?”

There was a pause and the General’s eyes met her own.

“Opportunity.”

He let the word linger while opening a bulkhead compartment and producing a decanter of amber liquid with matching lowball glasses. He did not bother offering her a drink before presumptively placing a glass in her shaky hand.

Despite best efforts, the glass teetered in her grip. The General uncorked the bottle and began to tip it, but suddenly paused, as if thinking better of it. Instead, his other hand closed around the shaking glass, fingers enveloping her own and steadied her hand. Heat shot to her face and her gaze dropped to the floor as he measured the drink into her cup.

“Thank you...sir.” She mumbled, refusing to meet his stare as her stomach turned at the whiff of alcohol searing her nasal passage.

“Negotiations were going to be unpleasant the moment Progga first refused,” he explained simply, swirling the amber liquid around the etched glass. “He never intended to make a deal.”

“So why go to the trouble of calling you there?” 

“You heard him. He wanted damages. This was the perfect cover and he planned to make an example of me.”

The General took a sip of the liquid and she took it as her cue to follow. It was something strong. Something dark and smoky. 

“And then he saw you.”

Mara coughed as the whiskey seemed to evaporate in her mouth. It burned in her chest and she sputtered from the sensation. It wasn’t smooth like the Alderaanian wine.

“Progga, like all Hutts, is a weak-willed cretin with little control over his prurient interests. I didn’t _want_ to shoot him…” The General folded into a command chair, crossing his arms and nursing his whiskey glass against him. “...but that remains another matter entirely.” He swiveled around to stare out of the cabin viewport where Nal Hutta appeared no larger than the crest on his uniform sleeve.

“We can allow the truth to spread. At best, it inspires fear amongst the local populace and at worst, the direct hatred of his kajidic. Neither outcome solves the fuel deficiency...” He stood up, turning and leaning against the viewport, his expression unreadable.

“...or provides leverage to work with.”

Mara found herself nervously sipping the whiskey, keenly aware of how her role in this story brought them to the present, but the General appeared to be in a rare, talkative mood. Now was the chance to exploit it.

“We can accept this result…or convert the loss to a gain by providing our own version of events and _carefully_ cleaning up behind ourselves.”

“But why pin it on a rival kajidic? Why not a rogue bounty hunter or...?” 

_Keep pressing, you’ve almost got something here._

“Because that clears our culpability, but it doesn’t solve the original problem. There was no demand for what we were supplying...”

“So you created it.”

“Yes.” His lips parted and those glacial eyes met hers with a knowing look, “By starting a war.”

His words began to sink in and Mara was suddenly afraid. She had figured out the First Order’s game: sow the seeds of chaos that would pave their ascent to power.

“You’re starting a clan war so you can sell our army to Progga’s enemies in exchange for fuel?”

It was an audacious plan, but if there was anything the General loved, it was efficiency.

“Progga’s rival kajidic is one of the few clans with fuel reserves and I’m certain they would welcome an excuse, legitimate or not, to crush them. You heard our friend, Jiktar. Nal Hutta is a tinderbox just waiting for the spark. Once news spreads of his death, the rest of Progga’s horde will retaliate, allowing us to sweep in, offer our help in exchange for the fuel and we’ll have killed two birds with one stone.” 

Blinking stupidly, Mara stared at her superior’s reflection as if seeing him for the first time. _This._ This was why, at thirty-four, Armitage Hux was currently the youngest general in all the First Order. His genius was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying. 

“Don’t look so shocked, Tallion. Progga brought this upon himself. And now his entire kajidic must answer for it.”

 _Brought this upon himself._ Wasn’t that what he said the very moment Progga’s head departed his body? The General’s declaration echoed in her ears, but somehow it sounded new—different as she turned the phrase over in her mind. 

Another sip of whiskey; by the time it hit the bottom of her stomach she knew exactly why. Her face paled, heart beat wildly in her throat and lips grew numb from the blood rushing to her chest.

 _No_. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have spoken Huttese. She must have remembered it wrong. She was _wrong._ It would mean…It would mean he heard _everything_. _Understood everything._ The lurid comments. The innuendoes...

Mara shuddered and the General’s gaze met her shell shocked one, eyebrow crooked in interest at her wide eyes and slack mouth.

 _“You…”_ She stammered in utter disbelief. Her lips fell open again, repeating the address like a garbled hologram, words and thoughts mangled under fresh humiliation. “You can—you _knew_...” 

The revelation came out in a woosh of air. He didn’t answer the accusation immediately, but instead took a long sip of whiskey, returning the lowball to the arm of his chair. 

“A remarkably degenerate language but simple enough to pick up with minimal effort.”

“But why—why did you...” Her heart rattled in her chest and the shuttle’s walls seemed to close in around her until she was almost gasping for breath. “...why bring me…”

“If you weren’t required?” He answered calmly.

Mara could only nod. It was all unraveling and she kept settling on the same desperate phrase uttered only hours ago: _You tricked me._ Except now, it wasn’t a simple dishonesty in service to winning a game of Shah-tezh. It was her life he played with.

“Tactical advantage.”

Her gaze snapped up at her superior, bottom lip hanging open in astonished horror, the whiskey in her stomach threatening to shoot up her throat.

“I needed to create the illusion of security for Progga. You were instrumental to that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me _before_ I was taken hostage?” Her tone bordered on disrespect, but even against her better judgement, she couldn’t temper it.

“How else could I test your loyalty?”

Two birds with one stone. 

“I came recommended—

“You came from _nowhere_.”

Mara winced at the harsh correction. 

“I know nothing about you except for the word of others,” he barked, voice rising to an irritated clip.

“But—Colonel Le Hivre—don’t you trust him?” Her question was laced with an unspoken fear: _did the General suspect him?_

“I only trust those whom I’ve tested—

“— _Tested!?”_ She snapped, springing up from her chair, voice raised several notches, eyes wide with affront. _“We were almost KILLED!”_

“ _I_ was almost killed,” he corrected evenly.

“I was being enslaved! And if it wasn’t the Order’s reputation at stake you would have left me!” Her face flushed with the heat of anger, humiliation, rage. Emotions Hux recognized all too well.

A deadly silence followed and he rose up to his full height, eyes flashing darkly. She flinched in response. She had stepped over the line. And now, all she could do was shrink in his imposing shadow, as if to fold in on herself, but General Armitage Hux wasn’t finished yet.

“While you proved loyal, your obedience is severely lacking. Such insolence does not go unpunished.”

Her teeth involuntarily pulled at her bottom lip, scraping them across it and the response that followed proved horribly insufficient.

“I’m sorry...sir.”

“I’ve ordered reconditioning for less.” He barked, eyes bright with fire, the challenge in them ordering her to stand down.

“I didn’t mean—

“You didn’t mean _what_ , officer?”

“I’m sorry!” She blurted, “I shouldn’t have said…” Suddenly words failed her under his narrowed gaze and she knew there would be no easy way out.

“Perhaps.” 

The shuttle’s temperature dropped ten degrees. She shivered, but knew better than to turn and look as he clasped his hands behind his back, circling her like cornered prey.

“...but you don’t _look_ very repentant.”

He swept behind her, leaving a trail of his now familiar aftershave in his wake. The musk pierced her senses, causing her scalp to tingle in inexplicable arousal. His breath fanned against her cheek as the next words caressed her ear.

“On your knees, officer,” he commanded, planting a boot on her calf, kicking the back of her kneecap. The force of it collapsed her legs, body toppling forward as she caught herself with palms flat on the floor. Her chained collar clinked across the shuttle tiles, swinging beneath her as tears sprung forth in surprise.

“Better,” he sneered down at her. 

Her head remained bowed, stunned by his cruelty and too terrified to stand up. A million thoughts raced through her consciousness, all of them frantically screaming _danger_ as he circled her once more before lowering himself back into his command chair directly in front of her. He folded one leg over the other, the shiny boot tip hovering against her neck below. She waited, jaw clenched, anticipating a blow to her constricted throat. 

Instead, the leather groaned, tip tracing her trachea up, up until the toecap pressed beneath the crook of her neck. A flick of his ankle forced her chin back, eyes tracing the long line of his thigh up to a perfectly still countenance. The General's eyes narrowed to glowing slits beneath a line of golden lashes. He wielded power over her, completely unchecked and her nipples tightened painfully at the thought.

“You’re ungrateful.” His husky tone shot a jolt down her spine and directly into her core. Mara quickly glanced to the pilot, terrified he might turn and catch them in this compromising position. 

“I could have handed you over to the Hutts.”

She struggled to swallow against the boot forcing her head upward to meet his sharp gaze, eyes so dark and dilated the blue in them all but disappeared.

“Is that what you want?” He leaned down, gloved fingers stretching out to brush her hot face, dragging the supple hide along her lower lip, fascinated by the contrast of slick leather on flushed skin. 

She swallowed audibly, eyes closed, reveling in the warmth of his thumb ghosting her lips, wanting to swallow it, tracing her tongue across each leather knuckle as he sinks them into her needy mouth. _Yes_ , it was exactly what she wanted.

“To be a crime lord’s pleasure slave?”

“No!” she spat without thinking, his seductive spell broken in an instant.

“Then don’t disobey me,” he spat, his delicate touch turning violent, gloved fingers digging into her cheeks. “Or perhaps you require another lesson?”

The word, _lesson_ , came out in a hiss, daring her to bite back.

“I'm not a child!”

“Then I suggest you stop acting like one.” The General snapped, jerking the chain at her neck. She nearly choked, scrambling to her feet and a coldness overwhelmed her where heat had been. With weak knees, she wobbled to the center of the cabin, eyes wide and whipping around wildly, searching for something, anything to help her now.

A gentle tug sent Mara stumbling toward the back of the shuttle, her damp underwear stroking the swollen bud between her thighs with each stride, every muscle tense as he led her into an unused sleeping compartment, imagination running wild as the door closed behind him.

He directed her to stand facing the double bed placed inside. Every inch of her trembled in anticipation. A firm hand guided her to kneel and her mind momentarily fluttered to all of the things he could order of her while on her knees.

“Hands behind your back,” he barked in a tone reserved for errant Stormtroopers. “And don’t move unless I order it.”

Mara obeyed, squeezing her hands together to curb their shaking, unsure of what he could possibly be thinking.

“Bend over.” 

His voice snapped her back to the present, registering the command with a wave of humiliation.

“That was an order, _officer_.”

The jeer sent a chill racing through her and she finally accepted her lack of choice in the matter. Slowly, she bent at the waist, wincing as her uniform skirt inched higher, her torso hovering over the standard issue coverlet, abs taut in abeyance.

“All the way down,” he added impatiently, hand flying to the collared chain, yanking it downward, forcing her into the mattress. A whimper escaped her as the skirt’s hem hiked up further, the recycled air blowing cold against her slick thighs.

“When I was at the academy, any cadet disobeying orders received a special _kind_ of punishment.” 

His voice took on a commanding tone, causing her to fidget uncomfortably, the harsh authority of it disorienting and erotic at the same time.

“Insubordination requires something more corporal.” 

Something cold touched the back of each thigh. She bit back a gasp, realizing it was the General’s fingers hooking her skirt’s hem. To her horror, he neatly folded the synthcloth fabric in one-inch increments, rolling it up to her hips.

“Don’t—” The protest fell from her lips, knowing it was useless. Her reaching hands met his own. He rebuffed her by pinning her wrists to her spine. And even now, as her head screamed danger, her body disobeyed, nether lips instantly wetted by the weight of him against her. 

The flush in her face spread to the rest of her body as her head fell into the mattress, desperate to hide tears of shame gathering in her eyes, assured that he smelled the musk of her arousal. 

Working the hem up to her waist now, he took in the curvature of her cheeks on display for him. Her submissive form, knees together, hands held at her back, body bent before him, pleased the General greatly. 

“You may remove the rest of it.”

 _Rest?_ There wasn’t anything left _except_...

 _“Now,_ officer.”

A frustrated scream boiled in her throat. How could she ever look him in the eye again knowing he saw her bare ass? And worse—her sex, flushed and glistening, projecting her body's betrayal.

Slowly, each hand untangled from her death grip and slid beneath her underwear, tugging the fabric between her legs. The gusset’s drenched seal broke obscenely against her petaled lips as she pulled it to her knees, the inside fabric shining with the milky evidence of her arousal.

She cringed in abject humiliation, wishing a black hole would open up and swallow her completely.

If the General noticed, he gave no indication, but instead reached between her knees, spacing them apart and snatching the end of her chain. He threaded it through her legs, links pressing into her stomach and grazing her inner thighs. She gasped as he pulled it taut, the frigid rings shockingly cold against her naked sex.

A tinkling sound, like the clink of a belt buckle opening reached her ears. Another flush roiled her core. She breathed deeply, breath hitching into the mattress and mortified tears clinging to her lashes.

“I’ll grant you the honor. Count. Ten strokes.” 

The folded leather swiveled and swung across the backs of her thighs, finally swirling around her exposed ass. A thousand needles pierced her skin as it traced her inner thigh. The cold, hard links coupled with the smooth leather tip barely caressing her, made her clit pulse in a way she didn’t know possible. When he finally flicked his wrist, turning the leather flat against her inner lips, she inhaled sharply.

“The First Order doesn't reward insolence.”

He immediately pulled the belt away and Mara bit back a protest, horrified at her body’s wantonness. _You can’t like this_ , she reminded herself desperately. Willing the slick between her legs to disappear.

The belt licked the air, meeting her delicate backside with a heady _whap_ , eliciting agony and ecstasy in equal measure. A shrill gasp escaped her lips as the impact ground the chain links against her engorged clit with shocking pleasure. 

Hux stepped back, the sound of her gasp, caught between a moan and a whimper threatened to steal his breath away. He bit his lip instead, reveling in the sight of her, looking so powerless and trapped and _divine._ Her swollen sex, shining with excitement, slid lewdly against the chain length, pink lips swallowing each one, setting his own pulse racing. 

“Please—this isn’t—

“Silence,” he spat, hand pressing her deeper into the mattress, her protests muffled in the sheets. The action of him dominating her physically only made it worse, bringing her to a near frenzied state. 

The leather slapped across her ass again, burning hot like a firebrand. She bit her lip even harder now, a coppery taste flooding her mouth as the chain slid between her thighs. There was a reprieve but Mara was too terrified to move or speak.

He leaned down, his silky uniform skimming her spine. The scent of his cologne, citrus and algoraspice, made her quiver, thighs clenching metal in unsatisfied lust as it competed with the pain in her knees bearing her weight.

Mara shifted her body to alleviate the pain, the movement pushing her ass against his trousers and she tensed at the pained growl elicited. Something rigid pressed into her and she quickly threw herself against the bed, assuring herself it was her imagination.

Hux let out a shaky sigh. It took every ounce of him not to grab her slender hips and grind the pulsing member between his legs to completion. Instead he pulled back, taking a moment to collect himself. This exercise had become a test in self control. One he was determined to win.

“If _I_ have to count, it will be twenty,” he added with another strike and paused, granting his strained cock a small relief. His leathered fingers fondled the engorged member, shivering at the feedback. _Fuck_ , this was too much. He was too sensitive and her desperate, muffled moans were pushing his limits. He would have to see to that later.

 _“Four,”_ she finally squeaked, eyes screwed shut and knuckles white with suppressed circulation.

He pulled back again, slapping her cheeks with the belt. The sight of those milky globes vibrating from the force of it and her exposed sex, flushed with excitement, drew his balls up so tightly he grew light-headed. The next three strokes barely waited for her weak voice to utter the count.

By stroke ten, Hux bit back a sigh of relief from the belt’s opposite end. Mara’s own back rose and fell with shaky breaths, the pain as unbearable as unmet pleasure. The General rustled behind her and Mara expected—or really, hoped—he would take his leave since her punishment was complete. She preferred to collect her shattered dignity in solitude if possible.

The General’s wristcomm beeped, once, twice and he shrugged in annoyance, finally answering it. 

“General Hux, come in.”

“This is General Hux,” he replied, not bothering to hide his vexed tone. Mara closed her eyes, head still buried in the duvet, wondering if the other officer could even imagine the scenario playing out on Hux’s end.

“Sir. Captain Canady’s requesting you.”

 _“Canady?”_ His voice piqued, “He’s found something?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will be back on the _Finalizer_ shortly. When I arrive, set course to rendezvous with him.” 

“Yes, right away sir. Over and out.”

His wristcomm went dead and Mara waited, wondering what it was that this Canady had supposedly found. So lost in thought and almost acclimated to the shame, she flinched when smooth, leather gloves pulled her underwear up from around her knees. She blushed violently anew, her entire body matching her backside as the leather left goosebumps on her thighs. He delicately pulled her skirt down, adjusting it to return her modesty and she dared not meet his gaze.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little taste of more to come. Until next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General enlists his favorite Lieutenant to assist in removing Progga's slave collar which may require some rather extreme measures.

V.

General Hux was right. They were mere minutes from redocking at the _Finalizer._ Mara’s blush hardly disappeared by the time the command shuttle slowed and their flagship’s tractor beam took over. Whatever it was the General anticipated hearing from Captain Canady, it clearly preoccupied him greatly as if the last hour was nothing more than a fever dream conjured by her own anxiety-addled mind. She would have believed it if not for the soaked underwear clinging to her thighs and the ache shooting up her spine with each shift in her seat.

The boarding ramp lowered and Mara awkwardly gathered up the chain slack, wishing she had a duffle or sack to hide it in as they stepped into the hangar. Two lines of Stormtroopers stood at attention as she and the General filed past into the hangar’s mouth and she wondered how many quizzical looks regarded her slave collar behind betaplast masks. Mara ducked her gaze, desperately speeding past, knowing she at least provided plenty of gossip for the stormtrooper mess hall that evening. 

At the very end of the greeting party stood a single officer dressed in black. He possessed a fairly forgettable countenance, Mara thought, with dark hair and a trained, blank expression. One of Hux’s perfect little servants.

“General Hux, sir!” He saluted smartly.

“Lieutenant Mitaka, just the man I need.” 

Those blank eyes suddenly sparked to life, clearly pleased by his General’s remark, whether the accompanying sentiment sincere or not.

“How can I assist you?” Mitaka warbled, hands clasped behind his back. The stance, no doubt, a subconscious mirror of the General’s own habits, a desperate attempt at invoking a modicum of the authority projected by his superior. For Mara, it had the opposite effect. Despite the Lieutenant’s rank, he resembled an eager child or perhaps little brother emulating an older one whose boots he hoped to fill one day.

“I’m afraid Officer Tallion picked up a…” General Hux titled his head, full lips pulling into a smirk as he regarded his subordinate in barely-concealed amusement, “ _souvenir_ from abroad. Please see to its removal.”

The lieutenant’s dark eyes ogled her, darting quizzically to the crude collar wrapped around her neck and back up to her eyes where he met a sour expression. He quickly averted eye contact and nodded affirmatively.

“Right away, sir.” Mitaka chirped. Begrudgingly, Mara admitted that Hux held an impressive command over his subordinates who seemed all too ready to take orders.

“Dismissed, officers.” Hux commanded flatly and Mitaka marched off like a wind-up doll. Mara hesitated, eyes wandering up to the perfect lines of her commanding officer’s face, wondering where his thoughts lie now. His gaze followed Mitaka and then, without warning, dropped down to her. Mara panicked, ducking his gaze as she made to follow the lieutenant, but instead froze at the breath of air tickling her ear.

“Progga was right about one thing,” Hux whispered, pink tongue darting over his lips and gloved fingers twisting around the chain hanging beneath her chin. “It does suit you.” 

His suggestive words engulfed her face in flames and her gaze darted to the General’s feet. The chain snaked through his fingers as it slipped from his grasp and he sauntered away without a second look. As if he _hadn't_ stripped her half naked not but an hour ago. She watched his retreating shoulders, failing to ignore the burning pain in her backside.

“Can I assist you with that?” Mitaka’s strangled voice came from somewhere behind her.

“No, that’s alright—thank you,” she replied quickly, clutching the chain protectively as though he might otherwise insist.

Mara would soon regret her insistence. Her muscles trembled with over-exertion while following him to wherever the Order kept fusioncutters. En route, she kept careful count of how many hallways they passed and from what direction they headed, as if creating some mental map of the ship may prove useful at some point.

“How long have you been stationed on the _Finalizer_?” 

Mara was taken aback for a moment. So far, no one in the First Order seemed to bother with polite conversation as if protocol dictated complete avoidance. Of course this unsuspecting officer didn’t mean anything by it, but even innocent questions could be dangerous if she volunteered too much.

“Not long,” she replied vaguely.

“And how are you serving the General?”

The question, innocuous in intention, sparked images of Hux standing over her, his officer’s belt lashing against her bare skin. Every nerve ending crackled with the memory of it. 

“I’m just an interpreter,” she choked out, trying and failing to suffuse the blush creeping into her face.

“You must be fairly skilled to be working under him directly,” he casually supplied.

It was an odd assertion considering this Lieutenant only knew of her existence for less than thirty minutes.

“I suppose that’s for the General to decide.”

“Yes, of course! He’s a good judge of competency. Though I hope he didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” she blurted, suddenly forgetting her airy, polite tone. 

The slight, blank-faced officer froze and actually blushed, eyes returning to her cuffed neck.

“You think _he_ put this on me?” Her voice sounded harsh, even to her own ears as she momentarily forgot Mitaka was likely her superior as well.

“No, of course not.” He wavered under her incredulous response, opening the door to a small room resembling a storage closet. Mitaka cleared out a space on one of the lower shelves and gestured for her to sit.

He opened up a metal box and withdrew two forceps connected by a plasma ray. With a press of a button, the fusioncutters switched on, producing a high pitched buzz between the two prongs.

“You’ll have to hold still. Can you angle your head?” His gentle tone was almost alien to her ears that had grown accustomed to Hux's terse orders.

Mara did as she was bade, angling her chin away from the approaching blade as it neared the damned collar.

“This could burn you if we’re not careful,” said Mitaka, holding up a gloved hand, “May I?”

Mara was unsure what she was permitting, but shook her head in compliance anyway. Mitaka pulled the collar toward himself, slipping his hand beneath the bondite ring. His gloves created a padded barrier between her bare neck and the scrap of metal he planned to cut. The intimacy of a stranger’s hand wrapped around her neck brought a blush to her face. He pressed the blade toward her, the screech piercing her eardrum as it clashed with metal.

“Isn’t it burning your hand?”

“The gloves protect me,” Mitaka relented, withdrawing the cutters to study his work, wringing the hand he had cut against. “Mostly.” 

His dark eyebrows furrowed and he fingered the metal, cheek hovering above her own as his thumb brushed the plated ring. It was in this moment that Mara studied him. His was certainly not the face of First Order propaganda posters. With a jaw too soft and dark eyes too round, he made a better puppy, dutifully lapping at General Hux’s heels than a hardened lieutenant actively engineering the galaxy’s subjugation. 

Mitaka let out a low hum, interrupting her musings.

“It’s not working.”

“What do you mean?” Mara blanched, sure she misunderstood him.

“They're not cutting through. It must be some primitive, reinforced ore.”

A rising panic bubbled in her throat as Mitaka raised his wristcomm. What if they couldn’t get it off? Surely _something_ aboard an entire star cruiser could crack whatever low-grade material Hutts used for slave collars.

“Come in, Lieutenant.” 

Mara instantly recognized the General’s irritated huff.

“Sir, we’re having trouble with the fusioncutters.”

_“What do you mean?”_

“I mean, sir, they’re not cutting the collar.”

Static crackled across the comm, the result of a breathy shrug from General Hux. And then silence. In those moments of quiet rumination, Mitaka’s eyes found her own. A warmth filled her face, the source of it innocent, unlike the mix of humiliation and arousal resurfacing anytime her thoughts wandered to the man on the comm’s opposite end. His gaze quickly darted to the ground and the moment ended.

“Report to Commander Ren—

“Commander—” Mitaka’s voice hitched anxiously as if he dared protest the order.

 _“Ren,”_ Hux snapped, “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitaka clipped, wrapping his apprehension in a dutiful, officer’s tone, “Over and out.”

Mitaka let out a deep breath, a grave frown stretching his boyish face. “C’mon,” he shrugged, gathering up the metal chain before she could protest.

**. . .**

Kylo Ren regarded them with disdain. Mara didn’t need to see his face to surmise as much. Mitaka could barely speak without stuttering as he tried to explain the exact reason for seeking out the Enforcer. She almost pitied the Lieutenant. He was only trying to help her, and yet, he seemed to have gotten much more than he could have bargained for.

“The General sent you?” Kylo repeated incredulously, as if any other reason would invite them to his private training rink. They had interrupted a particularly strenuous circuit. One that pitted the Knight of Ren against legions of battle droids pouring out of hidden wall panels. She and Mitaka stood at the fighting ring’s threshold, mesmerized by the fluidity of his red lightsaber, crackling as it cleaved through circuits as smoothly as if they were filled with sand.

Now he stood before them both, lightsaber swinging bladeless at his side, towering almost two heads over them much like her nightmares.

“Y-yes, sir.” Mitaka responded, nervous fingers skirting the rim of his uniform hat.

“I’m surprised,” huffed the mask of Kylo Ren. “Considering the last time...”

A vein in Mitaka’s neck twitched and Mara couldn’t stop herself from wondering what happened _last time._

“You must be the General’s _least_ favorite officer.”

The Lieutenant's round, pale face reddened in shame, eyes darting to the ground in submission. The comment clearly lanced a tender place and for a split second, a ping of sympathy plucked at her. The mask ticked to the right and Mara _knew_ Kylo’s stare fell fixed on her, perhaps studying the foreign collar chained to her neck.

“I thought your position with the General was of a professional nature.” He gestured cruelly to the chain dangling between her breasts and she fought the intense urge to roll her eyes.

“No, sir!” Mitaka cut in, eager to defend her, “Officer Tallion was—

“Perhaps the General should put it on you?”

A little noise, akin to a frightened squeak escaped the Lieutenant’s throat. Ren chuckled, clearly reveling in the undignified response being wrung from his rival’s adjutant. Mara let out a breath of air through her nose, irritation rolling off her in waves. After escaping the lecherous hands of a Hutt crime lord and nearly losing her life, she had seen enough oppression for one day. Even if it was from one enemy to another. 

“Please, we just came—

_Ksshhhk._

The crimson blade whooshed past her nose, bathing her in red light as she sprung back. Lieutenant Mitaka lurched forward, instinctively shielding her from Ren whose body coiled up like a rancor ready to strike.

“Step aside,” his deep, modulated voice rumbled through the air, any trace of amusement now gone. Mitaka let out a strangled gasp, body edging backwards, putting distance between them and the Force user.

Ren pulled the lightsaber back with one hand while the other stretched toward them. Mara couldn’t believe her eyes. The Lieutenant's body hovered off the ground, face contorting in fear, boots skidding the floor. With a flick of Ren's wrist, he flew back as if swept through a wind tunnel. A dull thud, like a bag of flour dropping to the floor jolted her and she turned to see if it was as bad as it sounded. 

Ren thrust his open hand toward her now, panic flooding her bloodstream, preparing for fight or flight. Her legs chose for her, calves and quads flaring in a burst of energy quickly extinguished. She tried again, brain signaling movement over and over in rapid succession, muscles straining from an unseen resistance gluing her feet to the floor.

Her entire body, heated by the spurt of endorphins, turned cold at the realization dawning her senses. The Force. _This_ was the Force. Controlling her limbs, stripping her of the agency she once had. Blood drained from her cheeks, images of her body floating in space flashed before her, anticipating what surely came next.

Ren stalked forward, each step rattling the very cells of her panicked flesh. It was a sensation akin to drowning, as if struggling to stay above the oncoming tide. She felt it now. Felt him. Felt his presence in a very tangible way, pulling on every part of her that fought to escape this cosmic undertow.

“Your face,” he whispered, standing toe to toe with her; close enough for her to realize her neck still moved as it tipped back to meet his mask. “I’ve seen it...once before.”

With eyebrows knitted together, she held back the panicked tears swimming in her vision, determined not to look as scared as she felt.

“Tell me where I’ve seen it.”

“The senior deck!”

“No. Before that. _Before_ the First Order.”

“That’s not—that’s impossible.” Her lip trembled, overwhelmed by the power radiating from him. She truly didn’t know. She had only ever heard of Kylo Ren in passing from General Hux and Poe, who both warned her to avoid him. She never saw his face or even his mask before their chance meeting in the hallway, for if she had, she would have surely remembered it.

“Tell me!” he snatched her wrist, spinning her around. His solid build pressed against her back through his jerkin, all bulky lines and hard edges. He was not like Hux, lithe and slender. Ren was large and lumbering, a great beast of darkness. And with that great strength, he swung the lightsaber to her neck, the heat of it searing her face. 

“I don’t know!” she cried, voice hoarse from desperation as the blade popped and sizzled, singeing her uniform collar.

“You don’t know.” He repeated, but the tone was not mocking or challenging. It was one of acceptance for the truth that even he couldn't deny.

From her new vantage point, she could see Mitaka stirring. He groaned, rubbing the back of his head as slicked hair fell in his eyes. She saw the very moment his vision cleared, the same moment he clamored to his feet, awkwardly barreling toward her, fear forgotten.

Ren allowed the Lieutenant within arms length. With a lazy hand gesture, he erected a force wall between them. Mitaka’s boots lost traction, floating once more. Mara flinched, knowing what came next. With teeth bared, the little Lieutenant fought against his invisible puppet strings, legs kicking and jerking, arms reaching for her as if he wallowed in open space. He looked pathetic, struggling, and Mara wanted to avert her gaze in shared humiliation.

Instead, her hand slipped from beneath the flexed bicep curled around her, stretching toward Mitaka’s grasping hand. Their fingers ghosted one another, tips touching ever so lightly.

“So close,” Ren taunted, amused by the watery look in Mitaka’s wide, brown eyes. Even beneath the Knight’s derision, his eyes stayed trained on her while his lips, engorged with blood, mouthed something she couldn’t discern.

“Speak up, Lieutenant."

“Don’t,” his voice came out this time, ragged and strained, hand stretching like a child desperately grasping a toy just out of reach, “...hurt her.”

Mara craned her neck, head pushing against his chest. Her gaze lifted, catching the briefest glance of Ren’s neck. It was human, pale, with a small mole marking the place where his chin and neck met. It disappeared as the vocoder slid down, his visor now staring into her.

She visibly gulped as his hand slid up to her neck, tracing the collar. His gloves pushed into her skin, the stitching pressing into her jugular. 

“Why would I do that?”

Mara never heard the answer. The blade rose. It’s bleeding light draped everything in red. The heat of it burned her face and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the kudos, comments and bookmarks! They’re giving me life.
> 
> See you all next week when we raise the stakes even higher.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara gets a visitor. Snoke's subordinates get disciplined.

VI.

It was not sight that first returned to Mara, but sound. And the sound was a high-pitched buzzing that presently pierced her temple. When vision soon followed, it helped little as she recognized nothing of her surroundings. Bright lights blazed overhead. This was not a part of the _Finalizer_ she had ever seen before. Judging by the hydro-dispenser wrapped around her wrist and the steady _beep beep beep_ of a biorecorder relaying her vitals, she assumed the medbay. How did she get here and where was—

Her hands sprung to her neck. The collar. A wave of relief and near giddiness swept over her as she touched her bare neck. But how? Mitaka’s watery eyes and Kylo Ren’s blade rushed back. What happened to the Lieutenant? A fleeting impulse to check with the med staff materialized before she could swat it down. What did it matter what happened to him? Ren could have cut him in half and it would be no concern of her’s. He was just some crony who only helped her in order to impress his superior. A voice rang out somewhere nearby, cutting through her internal self-rebuke.

“You’re not authorized to be here!”

Mara bolted up, paper gown crinkling as she peered out into the hallway, the biorecorder’s signal beeping anxiously.

“I see you’re awake.” 

Kylo Ren swept the room in two strides, cape swirling about him as he stopped at her bedside. Mara dug herself into the gurney, muscles tense and hands bracing the rails, preparing herself for what exactly, she didn’t know but feared all the same. 

He leaned over her bedside, domed mask regarding her lifelessly. Shrinking in his immense shadow, her eyes dropped to the lightsaber that remained unengaged. The only sound was that of the innocent biorecorder now projecting her hammering pulse to the room.

“Who are you?”

The beeps and her thoughts raced in tandem, producing a wholly unconvincing answer.

“No one." _From nowhere,_ the General’s voice echoed in her head. "I—I just started here.”

“I’ve seen you before.” His voice purred mechanically, abject horror igniting her lungs.

“We’ve never met,” she squeaked, body pressing further into the flimsy cot, sure that at any moment it might snap beneath her.

“No. Not here,” his modulated reply vibrated the air, the silence stretching on for an eternity. “Somewhere else.”

Mara knew no one connected to the Knight of Ren except his own mother who never spoke of him. What about Le Hivre? But if Ren probed his mind, wouldn’t he have reported it? The whole operation could be jeopardized. Her hands felt sweaty beneath the gurney bars, suddenly afraid he was reading her mind as she followed that very train of thought.

“How do you know the resistance pilot, Poe Dameron?"

Her eyes blew wide, too fast to hide the immediate recognition held there as blood rushed like wild rapids through her arms and legs as if looking for an escape. The beeps of her pulse sounded distant now and strung together like a drumroll. This _was it._

“I-I don’t. I swear, I don’t!”

“And yet he knows you,” he replied, surprisingly calm as if it were merely a curious coincidence.

“He knows your face,” he accused, leaning in close enough for her to leave breath marks on his muzzle. “I _saw_ you when I interrogated him.”

 _Tortured him you mean,_ she inwardly sneered, the thought filling her with resolve to meet her end with dignity. In her commander's greatest moment of fear he thought of her and now, as she was surely in the last moments of her own life, she took small comfort in thinking of him too.

“I don’t...I swear I don’t know him. Not _really._ ” She repeated, boldly now, but the lie fell so flat even she couldn’t convince herself of it, much less a trained Force user.

“But you’ve met?”

Her mind raced, frantically searching for a way out. Could she lie and say he was mistaken? Then what? Would he kill her on the spot? Did he sense lies through the Force? Was that how the Force worked? She finally nodded, words failing her for the terror rattling everything on the inside. 

“Where?”

Something ached at the base of her skull, a dull throb pressing inward as if a mallet were bludgeoning her from the inside.

“Trigalis.” The swamp planet came out between hissed teeth, hands grasping the bed sheet in a white-knuckled grip.

“Doing what?”

The pain struck severely this time, a tiny needle puncturing her scalp and burrowing through to her brain. Her jaw clenched, scared she might grind her teeth to a fine dust. And right then and there, with her back against a cot that now embraced her like a makeshift coffin, she decided to just tell the truth.

“I worked in a junk shop in the Outer Rim.” 

Poe had indeed sidled up to her clerk’s desk one musty morning in the deserted outpost of New Coronet. At one time, it was a legitimate stop on the Five Veils Route, but by the time Mara arrived, freshly smuggled out of occupied Brolsam, its glory days were long behind it. In the ABY era, it became a hub for black market materials and she observed all manner of smugglers, pirates, ex-Imperials and Resistance members all trading and haggling under its expansive canopy. 

He was a dark-haired stranger to her then. A black wavy lock fell into his eyes as he searched her’s. Said he was looking for a “new motivator.” She rolled her eyes, replying that every shop girl in the galaxy had heard _that_ one before.

Her gaze tore away from Poe to catch a dark, robed figure rising up behind him. Kylo Ren lurked in the back of the shop, lurked in the back of her memory. He saw them. Together.

Mara panicked, screaming at the intrusion, her thoughts scrambled as Ren attempted to push further. The market fell away, crumbling into disparate clips of Brolsam’s wheat fields as she boarded a spaceship alone. She was eight, hair in braids, screaming and suddenly she looked up, screams still ringing in her ears as the medbay ceiling fell from the sky, hanging above her as she dropped into the present.

Labored breaths she recognized as her own filled the uneasy silence as Ren, now corporeal, stood completely still, and somehow even with his helmet firmly attached, she sensed his unease.

“You sold parts to the Resistance?”

“And the First Order. He was just another pilot. Passing through.”

It didn’t take long though. Poe could be very _persuasive_ when he wanted to be and Mara was looking for any reason to follow him to an escape hatch. Unfortunately that hatch led her out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seemed. 

“And selling a few parts was enough for him to think of you under enhanced interrogation?” Even with the modulator she picked up on his incredulous tone and she knew the ruse was up. He was just goading her now, saying anything that would reveal her emotions toward Poe, but she refused to play into Ren’s hands.

“I don’t know.”

“You _do_ know.”

“We had a...fling,” she replied reluctantly—hoping it sounded reluctant—as a narrative formulated mid-sentence. “But I knew him as a Republic starpilot. It was years ago. I don’t know if the Resistance even existed then.”

A tense silence fell over the room and Mara feared he contemplated Force probing her again. In that brief moment he only saw the real memory she described, but a second time may prove fatal. 

“Let’s hope for your sake that’s true.” He added, his immense figure rising over the gurney’s lip and a small sigh of relief coursed through her.

“But how can we be sure? Technically, you have Resistance connections, something that would interest your General, no doubt.”

“No please— _please_ don’t!” She begged, her mind racing toward that familiar nightmare of floating in space as he watches her dispassionately choking to death. “I wouldn’t betray the Order!” 

“Perhaps I need assurance?”

Veins turning ice cold, her tone was sober when she finally spoke.

“What _kind_ of assurance?”

His gloved finger traced the railing of her bed, as if thinking on it, though she was sure he had something in mind.

“Your proximity to the General. It may prove useful to me.”

“How?”

“I want reports.”

“On what?”

“Everything. His movements. His plans. Anyone he is speaking to. Anyone speaking to him.”

“You want me to spy on him?” she dead panned. Of course it had come to this, how much _more_ complicated could this be?

“Yes.”

“No!” She blurted and he visibly flinched as if no one ever dared deny him anything. The air felt charged and she waited with breath held at his next move.

“I see your loyalty to him is strong already.” He mused darkly, lightsaber igniting in a burst of blood red. “He has a talent for training simple minds but I wonder how far that loyalty goes?” He gestured the saber’s tip toward her, its light flooding her face in scarlet.

“NO!” She shrieked, shielding herself with arms raised in a pathetic display. The air whooshed around her, bracing for the blow, she curled inward, head tucked into her stomach. One, two, three beats passed, the moment stretched to eternity, her muscles shaking from the extended flex. A mechanical laugh rang in her ears and she peeked out from tangled limbs to watch him slice her bed railing in half, the cleaven piece clattering to the floor.

“You don’t have a choice.”

His words pinned her in place, lying as still as possible as if she could blend in with her surroundings, and if she had planned to reply, the very man in question cut her off.

“Ren, come in,” sneered a voice that was all too familiar to them both. “The Supreme Leader requests an audience—immediately.”

Ren ignored the irate General on the other end of his comm, turning back instead to the figure cowering beneath him.

“Your General beckons,” he drawled sarcastically and swept from the room, black robes lapping his heels in retreat. Mara waited until his footfalls fell from earshot completely before sinking back into her bed, eyes closing to calm herself, wondering what in the galaxy she was supposed to do now. 

  
**. . .**   
  


Hux didn’t need to see Ren’s face to feel the insidious smugness residing there. At this point in their working relationship he could sense Ren on the precipice of greatly vexing him by the most minute interactions. The Knight had taken a luxurious amount of time arriving at Snoke’s private audience chamber and he could only imagine what occupied him before casually sauntering in. No doubt related to one inconsequential scavenger. 

“General,” Ren greeted him with a nod. That was all Hux needed to suspect the absolute worst. 

“Whatever you’ve done, I—

 _“Silence!”_ Snoke’s projection roared, immediately whipping both subordinates rigid. “We’ve arrived at an important hour for the First Order and I won’t tolerate distractions.”

Ren’s helmet turned to regard Hux, as if silently taunting him. The General brushed it off, refusing to be further goaded when everything hung so tenuously in the balance and he had nothing but bad news to relay.

“General, report,” Snoke wheezed.

Hux took a deep breath. “We experienced a _complication_ on Nal Hutta.”

The silence that followed registered as much more dangerous to Hux than Snoke’s vocal dissatisfaction. He could only imagine Ren’s gloating smirk beneath that ridiculous helmet. A hot streak of anger burned through him and he wanted nothing more than to take the Knight by the shoulders and rip it off.

“Progga grew hostile when I refused him what belongs to the First Order. I have reason to believe I was lured there under false pretenses and the negotiation escalated, resulting in his disposal.”

“His disposal?” Snoke repeated in obvious disbelief and even Ren ticked his head toward Hux, interest piqued.

“I had come to expect tactics of that sort from Ren.” To Hux’s surprise, the Supreme Leader cracked a toothy grin as if mildly amused by the idea. 

“It was not my choice,” Hux replied stiffly, sensing there was nothing to be at ease about.

“Choice or not, that leaves us in a precarious position, doesn’t it, General? A disposed Hutt can hardly supply us with fuel, now can he?”

“He cannot.” Hux tensed, knowing where this line of questioning ended.

“I sent you to procure fuel,” Snoke’s tenor ratcheted up a notch along with Hux’s nerves. “And yet you’ve returned empty-handed.” 

“There is an alternative,” the General added quickly, “but I need more time.”

“There is NO MORE TIME!” Holo-Snoke stood now, reminding Hux how monstrously he towered over everything. His robe swept the stairs as he stepped toward them, the blue, translucent folds swaying as he descended and once his feet touched the floor, Hux was already squeezing his wrist in anticipation.

“The Resistance and their Force user is within arm’s reach. We are a breath away from crushing them and neither of your shortcomings will hinder us now.” He turned to Ren and Hux’s body instantly cooled as the imminent danger dissipated.

“You let the girl walk away, completely unencumbered.” Snoke levied the accusation at his Knight who did not deny it.

“It won’t be repeated, Supreme Leader.” Ren responded with earnest resolve, meeting Snoke’s eye with unwaverable nerve. 

“It better not, you petty, undisciplined failures!” 

Hux’s jaw clenched, a nervous tick formed in childhood under the violent whims of another figure who ruled over him long before the Supreme Leader. The point of this meeting became suddenly, violently clear.

Snoke raised his gnarled talons, lightning spurt forth from his fingertips in two fissures crackling toward them. In the moment before it touched Hux’s boots, a pang of jealousy gripped him. Ren could hide his agony behind a silly mask but his own dignity went unspared as he toppled to the floor, writhing uncontrollably, face creased in misery against Snoke’s chamber floor.

Blood dripped from the General’s mouth from between teeth clamped like a vice to keep from crying out. Every cell in his body scrambled in hot rage, electrically charged as it coursed through his locked limbs for what felt like time without end. Hux knew what pain was, had become intimately acquainted with it thanks to a father who never spared the rod, but even that couldn’t prepare him for the kind of torture that would strip a lesser man of his humanity in an instant.

Another bolt of lightning sizzled through him. Sparks exploded beneath his eyelids. Had he not screwed them so tightly closed, his eyes might have popped from their sockets. The electrical buzz scoured his insides out, leaving nothing but an entrenched pain to fill the hollow husk left behind. It was as if the torture would never end. But it did, when the lights of the audience chamber and the world with it, went dim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off next week but I promise the absence will be worth it. Chapter 7 is hard E material. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a stressful audience with Snoke, Hux blows off steam and Kylo's sleep is disturbed.

VII.

Minutes, or even hours later, Hux woke, pinkish lids fluttering open, brain buzzing with a metallic taste lingering in his mouth. He was alone, thank the galaxy. He lifted his head, trying and failing to raise himself from the floor where he must have blacked out. He couldn’t move. Desperate spats of breath shot from his lungs. Was he paralyzed?

He tried his index finger. It sluggishly flexed back and forth, undulating like a space worm, but it wasn’t enough. His wrist refused to follow. He shuddered at the thought of a subordinate finding him like this. An invalid. Mitaka could be trusted with discretion but anyone else... 

Instead, something, or _someone_ hauled him upward. Devoid of feeling, he watched his own legs drag beneath him in a disoriented horror. His neck fell limp while his eyes wandered up to the helmet hovering just above him.

“Unhand me!” Hux garbled, lips finally moving of their own accord. He refused to be helped by Ren, who clearly suffered much less from Snoke’s Force lightning.

“Suit yourself,” Ren huffed, dropping the General in a crinkled pile. “I was merely returning your favor from Starkiller.”

“Consider it repaid,” Hux snarled, wiping the dried blood from his mouth as feeling flooded his upper body. He could now sit up with weak arms that strained to drag himself back against the audience chamber wall, though he noted how useless his legs still dangled before him. 

“Haven’t you anything better to do?” Hux rounded on Ren now, painfully aware that despite his functioning legs the Knight refused to vacate the premises. 

“Then to watch you struggle?” Ren countered, mechanical mask staring blankly at him, “ _Hardly_.”

“Seeing as you’ve failed to produce the desert rat, it appears you do.” 

Hux mentioned the silly girl Ren spent so much time obsessing over, hoping it stoked him into a rage. Ren refused the bait and instead stood silent for a time that stretched into discomfort, causing Hux to finally look up for any signs of a response or acknowledgement of him entirely. He often perversely wondered what inscrutable thoughts flittered through the Knight’s brain. Or perhaps, as the desert girl revealed, he was led more by sexual impulses than cerebral ones. 

“She’ll appear when the time is right,” he replied cryptically.

“And when might that be?” He smirked at the absurd notion that Ren had control over such things. Hux understood little about the Force, but even he knew it wasn’t capable of that.

“Soon,” Ren’s helmet tilted upward, as if staring out at something unseen. From Hux’s place on the floor, he looked giant. He _was_ giant. Taller than Hux by inches but with a broad neck framed in sweeping trapezius muscles, each connected through tendons to massive shoulders that swung like the joints on an AT-AT.

Ren finally looked down on Hux, as if registering his existence once more. Hux met him with a scowl, eyebrows furrowing in a hard stare. Gloved fingers reached out, the cool leather grazing his pale forehead as he moved a lock of red hair, mockingly gentle, back into place.

“And then everything will change.” 

Hux reached to swat it away but his weakened arms refused him and instead bared his teeth. The Knight laughed at his helplessness, taking great pleasure in the flush mottling his rival’s face. The General wanted to demand Ren explain himself, but instead watched mutely as the Commander finally filed past, boots clanking violently as he stomped away.

About an hour later, the General finally regained his legs, though not to the capacity sustained _before_ electrocution within an inch of his life. His calves wobbled unsteadily, using the wall to hoist himself up. No one could _ever_ see him like this. 

Luckily, his position had its perks, among them the knowledge of secret passageways and turbolifts to discreetly ferry him to his quarters. Leaning against the inner walls of his personal lift, his gaze traced the tube lights encasing him, thoughts drifting to Ren’s parting words. _What_ exactly would change? The more rational part of him knew that trying to interpret the Knight’s arcane ramblings was useless. Ren could no more tell the future than _he_ could, but still, the words nagged him as if somehow he might be right. And who would benefit from those changes, except Ren?

The lift dinged, pulling Hux from the depths of his thoughts as he stumbled out, depositing himself in front of his own door. Security scanned his code cylinders, allowing him entrance and he couldn’t think of a time when he was more relieved to see the inside of his compartment. 

He collapsed on the nearest piece of furniture, the sofa. It faced a vast window spanning the length of his quarters, revealing the depths of outer space in all its enigmatic glory. He admired its endless expanse and the multitude of possibilities hidden within it. Space would always mean opportunity to Armitage Hux.

Countless times had he stood before this window, envisioning a future in which _he_ was the ultimate master of his destiny and Supreme Leader of the First Order, not some decrepit sorcerer, dispatching him to backwater specks like Nal Hutta. The mere thought of Progga and his “court” was revolting. If only Hux had known what an absolute waste it would prove he would have killed him much sooner.

Exhaustion bore down as his mind rambled on, refusing him peace even as his limbs succumbed to sleep. Unbidden, his subconscious replayed snippets of the day. Shah-tezh. That pert mouth. The Gamorrean. Wide, dark eyes. Progga. Cheeks dusted in deep blush. The command shuttle. _Fuck._

The command shuttle. 

His cock twitched at her moans ringing in his ears while he lashed her naked, quivering buttocks, covering her in scarlet stripes. His desire stirred, suddenly awakened by the delectable recollection of her trapped beneath him. He should sleep now, while he still could. If Canady’s intel was right, the next few days would make an hour’s rest a luxury and yet...

His entire being rushed with unsated lust, long, skillful fingers sliding downward, skimming the front of his uniform, smoothing the fabric straining against his wanton cock. Had he not already endured an entire day of delayed gratification, he could dismiss these primitive urges. But try as he might, he couldn’t erase the image of her pink lips wet with desire, innocent face looking up at him from the floor, a heady mix of humiliation and excitement playing across it. The way his fingers burned inside his gloves as he rolled up that skirt, revealing those perfectly smooth globes inch by scintillating inch.

His thumb traced the pulsing ridge trapped in his pant leg, teasing it mercilessly through his wool trousers, imagining a different ending to their encounter. 

His eyes snapped open, hand falling away from an erection that still demanded attention. Instead, he rose from the sofa, stumbling to the back toward his office, almost light headed with need. He stopped at the kitchenette, pouring a whiskey with one hand and nursing it against his chest as he staggered toward his desk. 

The glass tumbler hit the desktop harder than he intended as he powered up his datapad, hurriedly navigating to the _Finalizer’s_ surveillance system, keying in his master code before he could think too much on the abuse of power he fully intended to commit. 

_7-5-225._

Few aboard the _Finalizer_ knew that every compartment had individual video feeds, made up of tiny cameras embedded in the ceiling that recorded all-cycle long. Someone like the General rarely had reason to bother with checking them. He had much more important things to do than waste time watching Stormtroopers fuck each other. He had Loyalty Officers for that, who employed them in building cases against traitors to the Order. But as the highest ranking officer of an entire ship, General Armitage Hux had access to _all of them._

His breath hitched as the feed fizzled to life, a jolt of forbidden exhilaration coursing through him. A tiny, single bed sat across from an armoire that housed her uniforms. The only thing missing was the room’s inhabitant. She was either in the refresher or out of the room entirely. An officer _should_ be occupying their room at this time. It was 2300 hours, after all. Unless she was patronizing the ship’s commissary, or worse, the officer’s lounge. The prospect of some stupid officer attempting to liquor her up set Hux’s teeth on edge. He took a generous sip of his own whisky of choice, Whyren’s Reserve, to calm his nerves.

The rage fantasy quickly dissolved as her refresher door opened and out walked the slight figure of his subordinate officer, padding across the room in bare feet. So she was a good girl after all.

Hux noted her hair, free of constraints as it tumbled down her shoulder blades and her sleepwear, a loose-fitting shirt over regulation underwear. The way she looked out of uniform, so wholesome and unadorned, doused him in desire as he pressed his gloved thumb against his lips, subconsciously nipping at the seams. 

His pulse raced as she pulled back the blankets of her regulation bed linens and slid inside. His fingers spread the screen, the tiny lens magnifying her body as his left hand swirled the tender tip of his clothed cock, already leaking through the rough fabric.

As a General, Hux commanded legions of soldiers and yet never felt the same surge of erotic power as he did commanding Mara. Glimpses of it were rare, but he sensed her rebellious inner nature, longing to defy him and yet always begrudgingly obeying. Nothing pleased him, turned him on more than knowing he held complete, absolute power over the little minx. Supreme Leader Hux would have her whipped in front of every Stormtrooper, officer, and technician as often as the impulse struck. 

He swallowed the saliva gathering at the back of his throat at the image conjured: her ass bare to the entire Order, lit up in bright red shame and desire. Slumping back against his office chair, he feverishly unzipped his fly, anticipating the smooth, oily caress of leather encircling his throbbing organ. The pale, pink shaft finally sprung free, bobbing against his dark uniform, hungry for release. That first drag evoked a sharp breath, shaky with want. He needed to be soft and slow, delicately fondling himself as even the slightest bit of pressure felt too dangerous when this tightly wound.

His office was silent save the climate control ducts quietly recycling air through the room. It shut off suddenly and her breathing filtered out from his datapad. With eyes closed, he reveled in the sound, remembering her breathy gasps at the kiss of his belt. He imagined those same whimpers bouncing off the high, blood-red walls of the _Supremacy’s_ throne room where he orders her to disrobe and mount him as Ren, now demoted to personal protection, dutifully stands by. Hux had always been horribly vindictive, even in his fantasies.

He carded his own hair, messily breaking the seal of pommade. Cool leather grazing his hairline sent a jolt of heat straight to his cock. Ren’s phantom touch, the mirror of his own, flashed through his subconscious. Hard, punishing strokes followed in self-rebuke, but they only pushed him that much closer to the edge. 

Realizing his mistake, his grip relaxed, gathering the tears of pre-cum beading at the head. His black fingertips, smooth and sparkling in artificial light, spread the lubricant down his aching shaft. Biting down on his lip served to distract from the heightened pressure as he imagined beckoning Ren to kneel, black robes fanning the dias steps, mask craning up at his Supreme Leader’s shameless debauchery. Ren’s pathetic gaze would search for a safe spot to land, anywhere but the sight of his heavy cock rutting in and out of her tight, flushed hole, inches from the tip of Ren’s nose.

He tugged the swollen base, pulse fluttering at each pass, fingers slick with wet as he pumped harder, faster, gasping at the friction created by his gloves’ stitching as they caught the delicate skin with each stroke. 

With orgasm in reach, he’ll unsheath himself from his little paramour and finish the job manually, giving his straining cock one, two, three last pumps before smugly peering over her shoulder to watch the white, glossy strings criss-cross the Knight’s stoic visor, reducing him to little more than a canvas for crude paint. 

The mere thought of thoroughly debasing Ren brought him to the brink. Near bursting, Hux tightened his grip, stretched skin enveloping the pressure-pinned head, deliciously pressing every nerve ending. The sound of his own cum-drenched gloves squelching through each stroke descended him into a blissful haze, relentlessly chasing pleasure until a small sound touched his inner eardrum which could only be described as a quiet moan. And it was not his own. 

  
  
  


The Knight could have sworn he heard it. A breathy groan— _moan?_ If it weren’t for the hiss of his helmet disengaging he could have been more sure. Brushing it off, he discarded the mask in an ash-filled plinth beside his bed, eyes furtively surveying his surroundings. Had someone dared enter his chambers uninvited, he would have felt it. And _no one_ dared. Not even the other Knights.

But then he heard it again. Like a whisper in the room. It was decidedly high-pitched. Female. And if he wasn’t assured he was imagining it, sexual. 

Unsnapping his suspenders, he discarded his jerkin and trousers on the floor. The sound of heavy breathing now filled his room—no, his head, as he pulled back the bed’s coverlet. These sounds were not coming from someone physically present, but mentally. He shrugged. It wouldn’t be the _first_ time some officer unknowingly projected their nocturnal _activities._ It was the downside of his abilities. Telepathy was not a tap one could turn on or off at will.

He ordered the lights to ten percent and closed his eyes, head heavily sinking into his pillow, trying _not_ to think of the last hour as the mystery panting faded into white noise. That delicate state bordering on sleepy oblivion had finally reached him until a guttural cry throttled him awake.

Ren’s obsidian eyes irritably snapped open. He was not alarmed, but merely puzzled at the phenomenon. He contemplated redressing, following the moaning to its origin and threatening them if they didn’t _shut up._ Instead, the Knight snarled and pulled his pillow tightly around his ears, vowing to track them down in the morning and punish them for the disturbance.

With eyes closed once more, his mind drifted to Hux’s little pet. Despite his rival’s legendary meticulousness, the girl was an obvious blind spot judging by how little control he possessed lately. Hux’s mind had always remained a locked box, but somehow, it had opened just a sliver and he was beginning to understand why. Just now, in the audience chamber, that little distraction allowed him to snatch brief glimpses of explicit thoughts flitting through the man’s subconscious. It was really too perfect. How else could he possibly exploit this little weakness?

His own thoughts began dissolving into the numbing darkness of slumber once more when a single, stark image flashed like lightning through him so quickly it was almost subliminal. He must have imagined it and yet it was as defined as his own memory. Two figures entwined. A naked woman’s body sat up, facing outward, back flush against the man who threaded her limbs around him. Her legs craned open, the pink apex of her thighs on display, bare breasts stretching across her arched rib cage, head tipped back to allow Ren a study of the long column of skin leading up to her chin. 

These thoughts belonged to someone else and yet he could see them clearly. They were a stronger manifestation of the projected breathing. Except now they were images. Wherever they came from, they were certainly _not_ his own. And yet his cock pulsed crudely as if they were.

He closed his eyes again, bent on ignoring it, but the projection was like a beacon. It didn’t take long to locate it through the Force once focused. The signature’s wispy tendril writhed with each mewl, gradually rising in volume and distinction. For a split second, he seriously contemplated entering the unsuspecting mind.

Besides, infiltrating someone’s subconscious was a new game. One he would benefit from mastering. His typical Force probes were more direct and usually painful for the receiver, but with refinement, his presence would never even be noticed and this poor, stupid officer might prove the perfect practice target. Afterall, _their_ projection was the source of his sleep deprivation and one good turn deserved another.

With new resolve, he reached out, touching the Force signature to complete the connection. A bright light enveloped him, pulling him inward. It took a moment to gather his bearings. This fantasy lived inside some officer’s impoverished imagination, clearly, as they could only conjure the inside of a standard compartment judging by the glossy armoire reflecting his own Force image in dark relief. He caught the reflection of two figures on the bed behind him and he whirled around, excited to solve the mystery once and for— _Hux?_

The man seated within arms’ reach looked almost nothing like the General, hair thoroughly raked, pale cheeks mottled in desire, a naked woman nestled between his thighs. Despite her nudity, Hux remained fully dressed, all the way down to his gloves which presently cupped each breast, thumbs teasing her nipples into tight little peaks. 

The earlier panting no longer filled Ren’s head, but the entire room and his gaze followed Hux’s marble smooth lips trailing along her neck up to the sensitive skin behind her earlobe. Her own arms stretched behind her, lazily tangled around his neck, fingers grasping coppery locks as he buried his face in her dark hair. Her head fell forward, moaning deeply as his left hand skimmed a path upward, two fingers hooking her bottom lip for entry. Her mouth enclosed around his pumping digits and Ren watched intently as the black leather plunged in and out of that tight, pink ring. 

A triumphal grin pulled at Ren’s features, head angling to one side as he leaned back against the armoire. Well, well, well, if the General’s fantasy girl wasn’t his little pet, Mara Tallion. As if answering Ren’s accusation, Mara hummed around the General’s fingers, sending a jolt of heat straight downward. Hux’s hand wandered south, leather creaking as he gripped her pelvis, violently snapping her hips into his own. A groan escaped deep within his throat and Mara responded by undulating against his crotch. 

Ren wet his lips. He should leave, he knew, and yet the evidence of his perverse interest lay hot and heavy against his thigh. Another jolt of heat shot through him from Mara’s desperate whine as she uselessly tugged at her arms where they remained locked behind the General’s neck. Ren now saw they were clapped in stun cuffs. _So he likes power play?_ Hux could be _so obvious_ at times. Was that also why he remained in uniform while fucking in his own fantasy? What did he even look like without it? All gangly and awkward and unimpressive, no doubt.

Hux partially answered Ren’s question as he wedged his arm between their entwined bodies, pulling himself free of his trousers. The Knight leaned forward, catching the slip of pale pink as the General used one surprisingly strong arm to position her. His cock nestled the curve of her ass and hips bucked, earning a strangled gasp from Mara as the sturdy ridge slipped along her wet seam, parting her swollen lips and gliding against her clit, the glossy tip pushing towards Ren.

The Knight swallowed, reaching for his own strained erection. He knew it was impossible to be seen. The Force acted as a one-way mirror into his rival’s subconscious mind, completely safe from detection, and yet his pulse still hammered as he unlaced the fly of his pants. Just looking down and seeing himself like this, fully erect, the heavy, blunt head of his cock pointed at the two lovers made his head spin with a voyeuristic thrill. 

Ren’s knees went weak and he braced himself against the armoire. His hands felt clammy once he finally wrapped them around his pulsing shaft. Pre-cum formed at the tip, but he would need more to lubricate the full girth. He gathered the saliva under his tongue and watched it fall from his lips to the base below in one long drip before spreading it along his massive length.

A desperate moan snapped him back to Hux now guiding Mara’s hips on to his glistening tip, a long hiss escaping her as he bottomed out. Ren inhaled. The General’s hands climbed her body, flicking her nipples on the way up to her neck. He held her like this, thumbs pressing into the hollow of her throat while he fucked up into her.

Subconsciously stroking himself in rhythm, Ren drank in the sight of her breasts bouncing with each down thrust. A small groan of pleasure escaped him as he imagined cumming on them. It was an insane, ridiculous idea born out of a lust-laden haze, but he couldn’t deny how much it brought him to the edge just imagining it. He was already so close. _You haven’t touched yourself in a while, have you?_ Ren thought, mesmerized by the General’s pale, smooth cock milking her tight hole. Mara attempted to quicken the pace, furiously rutting down until Hux put a stop to it, pulling out completely with a wet _pop._ She responded with a pained mewl and it was enough to send Ren tumbling to orgasm, furiously stroking from base to tip.

Ren stood up suddenly, crossing the room’s divide, close enough to touch them and instead unloaded, drowning in pleasure as he furiously pumped streams of pearly liquid onto Mara’s naked stomach. It dripped down her smooth skin, pooling in her belly button before oozing down to the little, bundle of nerves peeking out from her engorged lips and finally on to Hux’s sac. Ren waited, breath held, for the moment when Hux might look up and see him for the first time, a confused horror lighting his clear, blue eyes. For a visceral moment, the idea sent a strange excitement charging down his spine.

Ren knew they couldn’t see him as long as he only observed, but what if he touched them? There were many things about the Force that even _he_ didn’t understand and he was surely pushing the limits of his power. But perhaps it was worth a try?

Ren dropped to his knees, canting toward their pleasure-creased faces, both riding an erotic high. Gods, he could smell the acrid musk of their combined juices under his nose. The urge to taste them made him frantic.

With a feather light touch, Ren skimmed the side of Hux’s thigh. He glimpsed the man’s face, pallidly statuesque with eyes closed and teeth peeking out from under his plush upper lip. A shaky sigh of relief escaped Ren. The realization made him drunk on ecstasy and the validation of his mastery. He pressed his fingers to the tops of Mara’s thighs now, emboldened, and crushed his mouth to her lower abdomen, tasting the residue of his wickedness. He licked a trail down to her slick mound, tongue darting against her clit. She moaned and he imagined it was for him. 

Ren’s lips traveled down to their coupling, pressing against Hux’s cock as it slid in and out before traveling down to the General’s tender sac. He gave it an experimental swipe and the resounding jolt of pleasure ached through him. He let the skin fold around his lips, meticulously lapping up his own cum, cleaning the General of any trace of him. Hux quickened the pace above him, hips snapping in pursuit of his own orgasm and Ren returned to Mara’s clit, lapping it with flat, wet strokes. She let out a string of stuttering moans, riding them both with abandon. Desperate gasps filled the air and Ren knew they were that of a woman spent. 

Mara’s long, dark hair curtained around the Knight’s head and he looked up to see her eyes open. They were not blank with lust. They were bright and wide with the realization that _he_ was looking up at her with black eyes and wet lips. This wasn’t Hux’s fantasy after all. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments, critiques and thoughts welcome. And kudos (if you’re enjoying it) of course! See you next time!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara makes a mistake that ends in the cross hairs of the First Order's two rivals.

VIII.

Mara awoke in a disoriented stupor, underwear plastered to her thighs and a familiar light flashing on her data pad. A message. She scrambled to reach for it, terrified that Hux was already ordering her somewhere else.

It was not her superior, but Colonel Le Hivre, offering her ‘a round of welcome drinks’ at 0100 in the Officers’ Lounge. Drinks were surely a cover for a more important rendezvous but she certainly wouldn’t refuse one if offered.

Mara wiped the sleep from her eyes, half annoyed at the invitation’s ungodly hour and half relieved for the distraction. She would rather not think of the strange, wet dream she was having at the hands of General Hux and... _whoever_ that was. Those glittering, black eyes and kiss-swollen lips roiled her core in phantom arousal. Shaking off the lurid images, she donned a clean uniform and pulled her hair back within regulation before following the pin dropped on her data pad by the Colonel.

Mara was unsure what to expect from a First Order lounge, but it was surprisingly relaxed. Purple lights doused the room in velvet hues. Beats of music scored in deep bass notes rumbled in an undercurrent to the clamoring laughter and clinking glasses. It could have been any underground club in Coruscant, which is why it felt at odds with the Order’s daytime rigidity as officers of all stripes mingled together, leaning against a bar lit from underneath or cloistered in booths lining the walls. It seemed busy for 0100, but given the evening shift had just ended, perhaps this was a late night crowd.

Someone was waving to her from an alcoved booth and it took a moment to recognize the man as Le Hivre. Mara slipped and shuffled around clusters of other officers, dodging eye contact as she quickly retreated to the safety of his private booth.

The Colonel sat casually sprawled out across a nook that could easily seat four or more. He donned the rank’s dark teal uniform but looked far younger and nonchalant under the dim, forgiving lights than when she last saw him, his parting words a grim reminder never to discuss anything over the comm lines. 

“For you,” Le Hivre gestured to a second drink identical to the one dangling from his gloved hand. It was a low ball glass, filled to the brim with a liquid of sparkling blue that appeared lit from within. “Trust me, they know their alcohol here.”

“They seem to know little else,” she replied impertinently. 

“Wouldn’t _you?”_

A smile she could no longer suppress spread her face, suddenly feeling more at ease. At least with Le Hivre she needn’t second guess her every word.

“Thank you,” Mara replied, sliding into the plush booth and taking in the informal atmosphere. It was almost easy to forget that any one of them would gladly shoot her point blank if only they knew. Did generals typically patronize places like this? No, Hux wouldn’t bother. All of his mingling happened in private dinner parties no doubt, not lowly watering holes occupied by his underlings.

“Interesting venue choice…”

“It’s the perfect choice.” He leaned in so close she could smell the twin scents of aftershave and alcohol. “For a conversation you don’t want overheard.”

“By the swarm of officers all around us?” She replied sarcastically, gesturing to the crowded lounge where a burst of laughter erupted in a far corner.

He waved her off and cracked a sardonic smile. “No, by the surveillance system over our heads.”

Mara instinctively craned her neck—

“For gods’ sake, _don’t look!”_

“Sorry!” Mara shrieked, glueing her gaze to the table instead, unsure if blankly staring at her drink somehow looked less suspicious.

“We’re under visual and auditory surveillance at all times, so it’s best to meet somewhere like this.”

“...Somewhere intensely public?”

“Somewhere noisy. Too noisy to make out anything on the other side. And as you so astutely noticed, they’re all too deep in their cups to be on high alert.”

“Do you work on _the other side_?” Mara nervously sipped the mysterious drink, absently scanning the crowd for a tall, muscular officer with wavy black hair. Where had the face of that man even come from? His features were etched so vividly in her imagination as if she knew him and yet couldn’t place him at all. As if he was somehow familiar and foreign at the same time. Surely she would have remembered someone so...striking.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Le Hivre replied, eyes also sweeping the room.

“What division _do_ you work in?”

The question only underscored how little Mara knew about the one man she could actually trust in the Order, though she assumed that was by design.

“The one that let me know Nal Hutta was a complete disaster.”

“So security bureau, then,” she replied, a self assured spark in her eyes.

“I cannot confirm or deny,” he answered evenly in a way that was wholly unconvincing.

“What did you hear about Nal Hutta?”

“That our boy is a killer,” Le Hivre answered in a tone too casual for the topic.

“You didn’t get that from Hosnian?”

“Ordering a massacre and pulling the trigger yourself are two different things. You never know with these higher ups. I doubt some of them have _ever_ soiled their own hands.”

“No.” She recalled the blank look in his eyes as the Reaper charged. “It seemed all too easy.”

Le Hivre turned suddenly grave, tucking his chin into his uniform. The bags under his eyes grew pronounced under the shifting light, now beaming harshly overhead. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m,” she took a breath before sipping her drink, “fine.” A tense silence passed between them and her thoughts turned to Kylo Ren’s visit to her medical bed. Should she tell him?

“Chin up Mara. Nothing like a little murder to bring two people together.”

“It’s not a joke,” she snapped in a tone that surprised even herself.

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Le Hivre looked suddenly tired and the youthful streak turned him into a sour school boy with middle-aged wrinkles. “One does develop a dark sense of humor under these _conditions._ I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“It’s alright, I’m just...” she shrugged. His sad eyes made her feel guilty already. “I’m just tense. I wasn’t able to send a transmission after Nal Hutta because that droid is in a very _inconvenient_ location, if you hadn’t noticed. I mean—why _his_ personal quarters? And why not a mouse droid or something?”

“Two reasons. First, it’s in a secure location where it’s unlikely to be tampered with. Second, and most importantly, it’s the only place on this entire ship that isn’t monitored.”

Mara had to agree that it was rather clever. However, that didn’t solve her biggest problem: how was she supposed to gain entry to Hux’s personal quarters without him knowing?

“I can’t just show up for no reason.”

“Hux isn’t the only one with access.” Le Hivre answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Just wait for laundry pick-up and slip in when the service droid goes in to get it. They run on the same timetables everyday.”

“But what if I guess wrong and he’s there?”

“I wager he won’t be there for a while if my own intel is correct.”

“Why?” She suddenly recalled the name that Hux had so much interest in. “Is this about Canady?” 

“Canady? Oh _that,_ yes.” His voice turned sober, any traces of joviality all but erased, “It’s the Resistance, Mara. We knew they were on D’Qar after that pilot was tracked from Starkiller, but I think we’ve finally pinpointed the base. Captain Canady just sent word. He plans to intercept them before they can escape.”

Her eyes blew wide. It was already too late. “They’re going to attack?”

“I’m afraid so,” Le Hivre replied, voice resigned to the grim reality.

“But...” Her mouth hung open in a numb disbelief and suddenly the world around them went quiet. “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” he answered all too simply, using the tiny straw in his drink to absent-mindedly swirl it. “We can do nothing.”

 _“What do you mean nothing?”_ she leaned forward as if ready to pounce, hands bracing the table’s edge. How could he just sit there without a care in the world as all of their friends and colleagues were maybe hours from certain death? “Can’t you warn them?”

“ _And blow our cover?_ You realize that if they escape well before we arrive, it only confirms our existence. Hux and the others will know they were tipped off. You, on the other hand, can use this distraction to do exactly as I suggested.” They both stared at one another, his hard, furrowed brow meeting her incredulous look. “Stay _focused,_ Mara.” His voice held an edge of threat, face distorted in a baleful look that unsettled her.

Mara blinked back the rise of emotion threatening to spill from her eyes, sinking back into the booth, suddenly unable to meet his gaze as the gravity of Le Hivre’s words rendered her mute.

“Listen,” his voice was soft, as if he realized his mistake and the harsh lines of his face melted away. His demeanor returned to that of her benevolent mentor, hand crossing the table to bridge them, eyes pleading as he reached her arm. “I know it’s hard, but sometimes you _have_ to stand back. This isn’t about you or me. It’s for the greater good.”

But what was it all for if she was forced to stand back and watch her friends die? What good could ‘intel’ do if there was no one to receive it? 

“You understand, don’t you?”

Mara wanted to say that of course she understood, but what would be left of the Resistance at all if the Order wiped them out on D’Qar? And what would happen to the two of them if the cavalry isn't coming? They would be trapped. 

“Tallion!” The sound of her name, bubbling up somewhere from the crowd stopped her dead, mouth opening in a reply that never came. Her gaze met the Colonel’s bemused one. Her name echoed across the room a second time, landing in the chasm that only widened between them. Who could possibly be shouting her name in a room full of people she didn’t know?

“Thank the galaxy you’re alright!” came a sigh of relief. Before Mara could speak, someone slid onto the banquette next to her, an accompanying drink sliding in with them.

She froze, instantly recognizing the medium register of one Lieutenant Mitaka who now sat thigh to thigh with her. She didn’t turn to face him but instead met Colonel Le Hivre’s tightly drawn lips and eyebrows raised in a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“Oh yeah,” she replied, finally turning to find a more disheveled version of the man she cowered in fear with only half a day before. At 0100 the following day, their shared experience already felt like a lifetime ago. “Nothing to worry about—everything’s fine!” Mara raised her glass at him, as if casual drinking were irrefutable evidence of “being fine”. He raised his own glass toward her, misreading her movement as a toast.

She examined him up close now, eyes dilated with obvious inebriation. The collar of his jacket popped open. Had their earlier encounter with the Knight of Ren driven him to this state? He seemed so much the consummate professional that she scarcely would have believed if it weren’t for her own eyes.

“I was worried. I tried to visit you in the medbay—

 _“_ — _the medbay?”_ Le Hivre cut in.

“But they said you were already discharged.”

If the low lighting made Le Hivre look youthful, it made Mitaka look positively boyish. His wide, brown eyes gawked at her unabashedly as if he were desperate to hear her reply. Like a puppy starving for attention. It was probably just the alcohol that made him resemble a house pet, Mara quickly corrected herself.

“Yeah, just a bit of exhaustion I think,” she chimed in, hoping to cut off any additional details supplied by the unsuspecting Lieutenant. “Have you met Colonel Le Hivre?”

Mitaka’s eyes finally peeled away from Mara and she knew the exact moment they caught sight of the man who now surveyed them skeptically.

“Oh, sir!” He sat up, eyes wide in fluster, chest poking out and pushing back the black hair falling into his eyes. “Apologies, I didn’t realize you were with a—we were in the company of a Loyalty Officer.”

She now saw where Mitaka’s eyes stuck: on a red band encircling Le Hivre’s left sleeve. It never caught her attention before but quickly realized that it must signal something. Something that needed no explanation but inspired unspeakable fear.

“It’s alright Lieutenant Mitaka.” Le Hivre gave a gracious smile but a foreboding look lingered in Mitaka’s gaze as if whatever a Loyalty Officer did was enough cause for alarm by his presence alone. “No harm done.” The comment was eerie even to Mara who didn’t completely understand this new dynamic.

A beat of awkward silence passed between them. Mara could feel Mitaka edging away before she could attempt to dispel the tension.

“Well, I should get going,” Mitaka announced stiffly, sliding out of the banquette. “Bridge duty tomorrow so I’m in for an early wake up call.”

“Okay.” Mara forced a smile up at him as he stood to leave. His face was flushed with anxiety or intoxication, she wasn’t sure. “See you around, Lieutenant.” Both Mara and Le Hivre watched the jittery Lieutenant disappear into the crowd as if a target hung from his back, waiting until he was well out of earshot before dipping towards one another.

“What was _that_ about?” Mara’s face dropped, looking out at Le Hivre from under lowered brows.

“Perhaps I should ask you the same.”

“You first.” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea—

“How did you know his name? Clearly, he didn’t know you.”

“It’s my job to know it.”

“And why was he so nervous?”

“Who knows—

“— _You_ do—

“He’s obviously smitten with you.” He arched a graying eyebrow in a subtle tease. “Maybe _that’s_ what he’s nervous about.”

“Oh please—just answer the question. What is a Loyalty Officer and why did he react like that?”

“Alright.” Le Hivre spared an eye roll and flagged down a serving droid for another round of drinks. “I suppose you were going to find out eventually.” He took a sip of his second drink, as if preparing himself for an arduous explanation.

“You were right. I’m in FOSB. You can imagine how hugely beneficial it is. For many reasons. But LOs are persona non grata among the regulars because I’m the one watching them. Making sure they’re staying loyal to the Order.”

“The irony is breathtaking.”

“I know.” He grinned deviously, as if the deep treachery of it thrilled him. “That wasn’t a joke though. He _is_ smitten.”

“No, he isn’t.”

Le Hivre stamped the glass tumbler beneath him, as if mildly annoyed. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not trying to flatter you,” he added plainly. “Infatuation is something you can use.”

“For what?”

“Don’t be so naive.”

“Even if it was true—which it isn’t—I’m not using the General’s little crony to gather intel.”

“Why not?” He scoffed as if her dignity were immaterial. “If I had any charms, I’d be dolling them out left and right. Unfortunately a middle aged man isn’t lighting any fires around here.”

“Maker, what are you saying?!” An embarrassed blush crept out of her uniform collar, dusting the apples of her face. Surely he wasn’t actually suggesting...

“I’m saying do whatever you have to.” Mara read the harsh line of his mouth, suddenly realizing the comment wasn’t meant entirely in jest. “Your job is to survive and whatever happens on the battlefield, so to speak, can be forgiven.”

Forgiven? For the second time that night Le Hivre left her stunned in an uncomfortable silence. Too terrified to seriously consider the implication of his veiled advice. And what had already happened on _his_ battlefield that needed forgiveness? She dared not ask. Or even try to imagine it.

A chill rattled her and she was desperate to distract them both. “Those sleeping pills…Did you ever have any side effects?”

“What kind of side effects?”

“I don’t know.” Mara stared down into her drink, watching the ice melt. Explicit images flashed in still frames through her mind. She stifled a shiver and instead rubbed her thighs together beneath the table. “...vivid... _dreams?_ ”

“Not really.” He searched her eyes as if he knew she meant some other kind of dreams. “Look, you’re under a lot of stress. Sometimes the body reacts in surprising ways.”

 _Surprising_ was one way to put it.

“Just get some rest tonight…” The Colonel drained his cocktail with surprising speed and Mara couldn’t help but marvel at it. He was clearly no stranger to this feat. “And try to prepare yourself for tomorrow,” he said, offering his hand, pulling her from the shadowy depths of the lounge booth they had sunk into. She took it, fingers clasping his and felt something small and hard wedged in his palm. He let go and Mara balled it into her fist, recognizing the toothed ridges of a mini data card.

“Transfer that and then destroy it.” 

  
**. . .**   
  


Mara awoke on edge, recalling Le Hive’s advice. Sleep proved elusive. Too nervous to take any more sleeping pills, she instead passed the hours with eyes closed, wishing her alarm would sound at any moment. That horrible, mechanical bleeping, usually met with deep disdain felt like a sweet siren from the longest, darkest night when it finally sounded.

Already conditioned into routine, she checked her data pad first thing. Nothing from the General or Le Hivre to indicate anything urgent was underway. Not that she expected either one to alert her of such a development.

With thoughts turning to what lies ahead, she decided the safest course of action was to at least attempt normality. As if her entire world wasn’t hanging in the balance. As if her own Alderaan wasn’t imminent. Mara pushed down those thoughts. She couldn’t think them. 

The Resistance was agile. They prepared for these things. Everything was portable, from the consoles down to the caf machine. The whole operation could be packed up in a moment’s notice and hauled away on emergency-ready transport. They drilled these very scenarios into every member routinely to make damn sure that even the mess hall cook knew their role should the Kay One Zero sound. 

Buoyed by her own reassurance, Mara found the internal strength to pull on her uniform and tie back her hair before slipping the tiny data card into her inner breast pocket. As instructed, Mara checked the laundry timetables from her data pad. Senior deck service wouldn’t start until 1100, so she set an alarm on her chronometer for T-minus thirty minutes. That should leave her plenty of time to ensure she didn’t miss her window. Mara took a deep breath, snapped her collar together and tried to convince herself that breakfast would at least distract her for the moment, even if her stomach refused.

The Finalizer’s mess hall was massive, much like everything else in the First Order. Unlike the Resistance, it was clearly segregated by division and rank with most Stormtroopers, officers, pilots and technicians keeping to their own territories. Mara glanced helplessly at her “colleagues” on the officer side and then assessed the mobility of her breakfast options. Something like Jogan fruit or a simple ration pack could be most easily smuggled back to her compartment.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind her. She half expected it to be some stuffy officer attempting to move her along, but it wasn’t. It was Lieutenant Mitaka with a sheepish blush threatening to consume his entire face. The absolute _last_ person she had hoped to see.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about last night,” he said, gripping the edges of his tray like a lifeline as he followed her through the serving queue.

Mara froze, caught precariously between a sigh and a scream. She _really_ didn’t want to deal with this right now. Her entire being was mentally elsewhere and yet he just kept crashing into the present like a jilted lover who couldn’t take a hint.

“Lieutenant—

“Please,” he said, his wide, guileless eyes surprisingly vulnerable for an officer, “you can call me Mitaka.”

“Mitaka, it’s really okay.” She felt the words climbing up her throat and flying through her teeth before her irritation and contempt could beat them back.

“I could have gotten you in trouble with that LO.”

“You didn’t get me in trouble.” Mara shrugged, tossing a protein ration pack on her tray. “He’s my...friend.” 

_Did people have friends in the First Order?_

“Oh…” Mitaka’s voice dropped, obviously processing this piece of data. An uncomfortable silence followed and Mara could pinpoint the exact moment when—

“OH! I’m so sorry! I didn't realize he was—you both were—

“No! No—not _that_ kind of friend.”

“Oh.” He looked almost relieved as he swiped a shuura fruit from a bowl. Mara wondered for a split second if Le Hivre was onto something.

“We just knew each other from before,” she replied casually. “He’s a family friend.” 

Mara reached the end of the queue, suddenly realizing there was no exit plan now. She needed a good, plausible reason for whisking away her food and abandoning Mitaka, but nothing came to her in the moment he suddenly turned and smiled, asking if she wanted to join him. Internally, she sneered. _Of course she didn’t_. But the response came out decidedly different.

“Sure.”

“Is that all you’re eating?” He asked in obvious astonishment at the single protein pack and cup of caf haphazardly spread across her tray.

“I’m not feeling well,” she answered honestly, dropping her tray at the far end of a long, communal table. Mitaka followed suit, immediately taking a generous bite out of his shuura fruit, wiping the syrupy juices from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I hope the General isn’t working you too hard.” The way he looked at her, with those openly earnest eyes tugged at a begrudging sympathy Mara desperately wished to ignore. “I know he can be…demanding at times.”

“He’s fine,” she answered flatly, wondering how long it would take Mitaka to finish breakfast and end her benevolent captivity. It was probably best to feign some interest just for appearances’s sake. “Do you work very closely with the General?”

“I’m his adjutant.”

“His what?”

“Adjutant,” he repeated, swallowing another piece of fruit. “It’s a military assistant. Mostly his personal administrative tasks. Like answering correspondence, providing updates on campaigns and initiatives…” Mitaka further delved into the minutiae of his day to day but Mara had long stopped listening. Instead, she stared out of the transparisteel window behind him, wondering if the Resistance had any clue about what was coming for them.

“Didn’t you say you had bridge duty today?” She cut in, suddenly aware that the window framing his face glowed electric blue. Mitaka’s voice and the surrounding clatter of the mess hall faded beneath her stuttering pulse. The _Finalizer_ was in hyperspace. They were en route to D’Qar.

“Shit!” He flipped over his wrist chronometer and tripped out of his chair. A few nearby officers stifled laughs at his gangly form untangling from the furniture. “Sorry! I-I have to go!” 

Mara waited exactly five seconds and then abandoned their trays, trailing his frantic figure only a few steps behind as they both disappeared into the First Order milieu.

The bridge swirled in uniforms of teal, black and gray, scurrying around the room, checking consoles and relaying orders while sentry droids patrolled around their feet. Mara slipped in behind Mitaka who assumed his post toward the back of the room at a stand alone console rising up from the bridge floor. At the helm stood General Hux, back turned, silently staring into the celestial expanse, imposing and all-powerful in his natural domain.

A disquiet charged the air, an odd calm fringed with restlessness for what lie ahead. Mara knew the feeling well from her time in the Resistance control room. Like a troupe of actors awaiting curtain call, everyone took their places, ready for their opening lines. In the case of First Order controllers, it meant sprawled out in sunken pits lining the bridge gangway and Mara couldn’t help but recast herself in their position, wondering what her life would have been like on this side of the war. Miserable, most likely.

A beige planet, striated in blue and green swallowed the bridge’s view as they dropped into real space. Mara held her breath, knowing it was the destination but stunned to see it again so soon. Fifty clicks west, a handful of the Resistance’s beetle-shaped lifeboats joined a capital cruiser hovering nearby. At least ten more ships broke D’Qar’s exosphere, their engines roaring in a beeline toward the protective shields of the _Raddus_. While Mara previously pretended to use an empty console, she now stopped and turned to helplessly witness their doomed attempt. Most of the transport had already docked inside the lead ship, so what was the General waiting for? Shouldn’t he have fired on them already?

Her answer soon appeared in the form of a ship, easily twice the _Finalizer’s_ size, dropping into real space beside them. It’s flat, broad bow loomed in the side port windows and soon Mara wasn’t the only officer to stop and take in the presumed herald of destruction. Two long, wide cannons slung beneath the ship’s belly lowered and a rush of air filled her lungs, fingers flexing into tight fists as its ion-ringed barrels glowed red in an impending charge. 

As the cannons locked into place, a tiny flash of light glittered in her peripheral. A light spacecraft, the size of a gnat by comparison, zipped across no man’s land and parked at the very nose of the second ship. Her eyes narrowed, straining to make out what appeared to be a lone, black and orange T-70.

_“This is Commander Poe Dameron of the Republic fleet…”_

Chest squeezing in anguish, she braced the console in an attempt to hide her shock at the sound of his voice. Usually garbled by static in her headset, it rang out over the bridge comm system as clear as if he stood before her.

_“Hello…?”_

The very sure, deep tenor of it, even as it teased the General with cheeky comments, brought a swell of hope and despair that threatened to drown her completely. His faux bravado was most likely a cover for something else, but looking out at him, nothing more than a speck among the stars from the _Finalizer’s_ bridge, Mara feared this would be the last stupid mistake he ever made.

“Open fire!” Hux finally shouted, finished with playing games.

Black One bolted forward, weaving and rolling across the ship’s hull, rattling the surface cannons with his own lasers while dodging the _Finalizer’s_ return fire.

“What’s that pilot _doing?”_ One nearby officer wondered aloud, watching in amused disbelief. _That pilot is taking out your surface canons,_ Mara thought archly, though she too wondered what the long term plan was. If her experience was anything to go by, there was only a fifty-fifty chance Poe actually thought it through.

A swarm of TIEs now tailed him, skirting the ship’s surface as they criss-crossed towers and the remaining cannons. A small smile tugged at her, knowing that if she was still his controller he would have muted her a long time ago.

The second ship’s artillery cannons must have reached full capacity. Two twin laser beams rained downward, searing D’Qar’s surface as one last ship narrowly escaped the atmosphere. Mara heaved a sigh of relief. At least whatever half-cocked plan Poe had, it worked long enough to complete the evacuation. Now they just had to get the hell out of there. 

But retreat was clearly not what Poe had in mind, as the full complement of Resistance heavy bombers launched, lumbering toward the other ship. Another swarm of TIEs scrambled, attacking the bombers like a pack of piranhas, eating through the giant fuselages until each one collapsed in a tangle of steel, slowly spiraling to the surface below. Mara could only watch in abject horror, not daring to believe her own eyes as the bulk of their fleet crumbled in a matter of minutes. 

“What are you doing here?”

Mara whirled around to find Mitaka at her back, his eyes catching something that made them bulge in unmasked fear.

“Who invited you to the bridge?” Came the sharp inquiry of General Hux, who now approached from the opposite side. Mara practically jumped toward Mitaka, gaze avoiding her superior’s, his own face a mask of suppressed fury. The battle raged on just outside but a pause, pregnant with terror, swept the room as he crossed the entire bridge in seconds.

“I’m going to assume you’re hard of hearing as I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.” Eyes like ice chips scrutinized the naked terror filling her face, but it was a wave of arousal that shot down her spine as he stood toe to toe. “So I’ll ask again: _who_ invited you here?”

“N—

“It was my idea, sir,” Mitaka cut in, stepping toward his commanding officer. Mara snapped in protest, but the General cut her off.

“ _Your_ idea?” A golden eyebrow raised in conspicuous challenge followed by a stern look shooting across his features in silent warning: _don’t you dare._

“Yes sir,” Mitaka replied, his boyish demeanor disappearing as he held firm to this completely ridiculous notion. “Officer Tallion expressed interest in seeing the bridge.” 

“And you thought _now_ was an ideal time?”

“It was a miscalculation on my part, sir.”

“A _miscalculation_ is what will be printed on your death certificate if this ever happens again,” Hux declared in a tone that brooked no argument. “Report to my office after your shift.” Mitaka stared at his superior numbly as the General’s head swiveled toward Mara who hovered just behind him.

“I’ll deal with you later.” It was not a threat but a promise that she would regret this little indiscretion as soon as he decided on a punishment befitting the crime.

“General, sir.” An older captain interrupted meekly from the bridge’s helm, but Hux hardly spared him a glance. “They’re making the jump to lightspeed.”

Mara’s own demeanor betrayed nothing of her relief. The Resistance was safe despite this snafu. They could regroup and try again or hide out until they marshaled more support. They were down, but not out. Not yet.

“Let them,” Hux replied calmly, gaze penetrating her in a way that felt all too familiar. “There’s nowhere to run now.”

The comment pierced her mask of indifference, eyes widening a fraction in disbelief. The movement would be imperceptible to anyone else, but General Hux was not ‘anyone else.’ If he had caught her true reaction, nothing in his harsh dismissal of her indicated it. And if he intended to act on any suspicions, the moment passed when a giant hologram beamed directly to the bridge, snapping him to attention in a way she had yet to witness from her unflappable superior.

Mara used this distraction to escape swiftly without further notice from the General or anyone else. Before crossing the bridge’s double blast doors, she spared one last look at the Lieutenant, stooped over his console with eyes glued somberly to the screen. They were both in major trouble, but she couldn’t think about that now. 

Her chronometer alarm went off, signaling the last thirty minutes before the 1100 service began. Hux was still occupied on the bridge so his quarters were guaranteed to be empty. Mara rushed to the turbolifts, frantically pressing the call button and pushing down the unsettled feeling in her stomach as the doors closed. 

Level ten’s hallways were eerily empty, just as they had been the last time Mara wandered them. Only this time, something was wrong. The hallway lights, long tubes framing each steel reinforcement, flickered further down the corridor before descending into complete darkness. The sight made her hackles rise, inexplicably sensing the danger disguised in twilight, but her destination lay on the other side and there was no way but through. 

As Mara approached the shadow’s edge, she could make out tiny emergency lights in the distance. It must have been a power failure and she had reached the center of it. With visibility reduced to zero, she reached out, using the wall to navigate in case anything had fallen from the ceiling during...whatever had caused this. 

A mechanized purr, echoing in the dark perked her ears and the familiar pull of a force unseen wrapped her wrists. She made to run, sprinting back toward the light, but her feet lost traction. The hallway faded further, rushing backward as her body flew into Ren’s waiting hands. With her back against the wall, his enormous bulk pressed hard enough to squeeze the air from her lungs. She grew dizzy, gulping air to steady herself. 

“You’re a terrible spy,” Ren stated simply, the charge wounding her in more ways than one. “But don’t worry.” He breathed deeply, chest expanding against her. “You’ve already proved useful in other ways.”

“What ways?” she gasped, still regaining breath as her eyes adjusted, now able to trace the outline of his helmet.

“You’ve become a nice little distraction for our dear General.”

“Not trying to be.”

“It doesn’t matter. You are. And it benefits me.” Mara could feel him pulling the elastic from her hair, releasing her chignon. “Because now I know a weakness,” he hissed, threading his fingers through a lock of her hair. “The only question is…” He paused, letting it slip away. “How should I exploit it?”

“I’m not a plaything,” Mara protested, though her voice sounded breathy and unsure as his paw swept up to her neck, thumb softly grazing her chin.

“You’re not?” Ren asked, voice hitching in faux surprise, the question, subtly demeaning in its rhetorical frame. Her face wrinkled in hot rage, imagining the satisfaction of biting his hand. He chuckled instead, sensing her fury and sighed, a shuddering sound that made her chest flutter in a surprising rush.

“The General’s private thoughts beg to differ.” The comment caught her off guard and the illicit images from last night spurt forth faster than she could banish them. “I see the feeling’s mutual,” he added smugly.

“Let me go!” She cried out, embarrassed and outraged, hopelessly squirming beneath him in a desperate bid for escape.

“He can’t help but think about you.” He rebuffed her writhing with a knee parting her legs, each thigh wrapped around him. “And I can’t _help_ but hear him...” Though his face remained hidden, she was certain the comment came with an eye roll and wondered what the face of Kylo Ren looked like. “...imagining what it would be like...”

Her sputtering breaths turned heavy, trying to dismiss her body’s visceral reaction and the growing erection pushing against the apex of her thighs. His own breath grew deep, the sound of it an exquisite static as it filtered through the vocoder.

“...taking you on the bridge where everyone can see.”

She desperately needed to escape and yet couldn’t deny the desire awakening deep within her, drawing her in, rocking gently against the pressure building below as she gave into his solid chest pressing pleasurably against her and the wetness pooling between her thighs.

“I can feel you,” he breathed, muzzle crushing her cheek, the vibration of it rattling straight to her pulsing clit. “I can feel how much you want this,” he asserted, sliding her against him, his impressive length rutting against her sex as she breathlessly rode him through his trousers.

Her head shook, affirming her most shameful desires spoken aloud. She _did_ want it. She shouldn’t, but another part of her, a feral, instinctual part answered in a way her conscious mind could not. She wanted to just let go. Forget about who and where she was. Lose herself in the raw, bestial pleasure for which Kylo Ren was the conduit.

“Perhaps I should let the General know—hm?” Firm hands traveled down to her hips, clawing at her as the pace quickened, her desperate whines spurring him on. “Let him know how I’ve spoiled you when I send you to him with my cum dripping down your legs.” Ren’s growl sent Mara into an erotic tailspin, hips grinding obscenely against the throbbing cock trapped beneath her. 

His massive body pummeled her, balancing on the fine edge of pleasure and pain. But it was pain that set off her unraveling orgasm. She was close, so close, when he suddenly stopped. Still in the throes of ecstasy, a frustrated sigh escaped her quivering mouth. Her eyes flew open to find the Commander standing completely still, a slick spot where his knee propped her up, head ticking to the right as if he sensed something.

He stepped back completely and Mara could only brace the wall, chest heaving in bewilderment, the sexual spell of Kylo Ren now broken. 

He cupped her face, long fingers almost spanning her entire head. “Another time,” he muttered, curiously abandoning her as if nothing had happened and all she could do was stand there mutely, watching him walk away in a ripple of black.

Mara stumbled toward the emergency lights that twinkled like far away stars. Her legs broke into a full sprint, desperate to put distance between her and that pit of sensual darkness, terrified of the depths to which she had sunk within it. Her mind cleared quickly enough to catch her chronometer again, its face mocking her as it flashed 1105. She stood at the General’s door, a sinking horror settling in as she saw no sign of a laundry droid.

“Fuck!”

Mara clapped her hand to her mouth, biting her finger in a strangled scream. Now she would have to try all over again tomorrow and hope the conditions were right. Furious with Commander Ren and herself, she stood in the hallway a moment longer, willing the door to magically open. But she was not Force sensitive and it remained resolutely still as if laughing at her delirious hope.

She turned to leave, but suddenly froze at the distinct click of magnetic locks disengaging. The door slid open to reveal a bulky droid parked on the other side, staring at her blankly. It brought a genuine smile as she sent up a prayer to whatever deity would listen and slipped around it, her entire body sighing in relief. 

“You have quite the talent for showing up where you shouldn’t,” came the measured drawl of General Armitage Hux. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of ground to cover in this chapter, but that should bring us to Last Jedi territory. Hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I have writing it and see you next time!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara takes Le Hivre’s advice.

IX.

  
The door slid shut and Hux’s compartment of glass and polished chrome clamped down on Mara like a steel trap. Instinct screamed at her to bolt but the General’s glacial stare pinned her to the door. He did not stand up in alarm or even raise his voice as she stood there, completely dumbstruck. _He wasn’t supposed to be here._ But there he was, framed by the cosmic depths of his floor-to-ceiling window, reclining in an armchair, data pad lazily balanced in one hand. He painted an oddly calm portrait considering a subordinate had just broken into his quarters. 

“I hope you have an extraordinary explanation for this,” he added in a tone verging on disinterest as he regarded his tablet once more. “Because my shuttle departs for the _Supremacy_ in one hour and I haven’t the time nor patience for any more nonsense,” he finished, sipping from a steel tumbler as steam ribboned around his pale face. Even in biting disdain, his stoic features appeared cruel and beautiful bathed in D’Qar’s distant moonlight.

Five seconds or five years may have passed as she stayed locked in an endless stupor, observing him intently for any sign of his next move. Unlike the barely concealed rage on display at the bridge, his mood had changed. It was something more akin to detached malice. Something much more dangerous.

“Actually, I came to apologize, sir. Personally.” That got his attention. He looked up at her now, chin tipping back, plush lips quirking in interest. “For trespassing…on the bridge this morning.”

“By trespassing on my personal quarters?” he challenged flatly. 

“No! I wasn’t—it was an accident.” Mara gulped down the bile pressing at her throat as his eyebrows raised a fraction in clear skepticism. “I thought you opened it. It was a mistake.”

It was not a mistake. It was a very poor explanation, but he seemed to at least partially accept it. Or just lost interest in interrogating it further.

“And how do you plan to rectify this mistake?” He finally discarded the tablet on an end table, crossing his empty arms like an unimpressed school master.

“By asking for your forgiveness?” It was more of a question than a statement. She subconsciously tugged the edge of her sleeve as his expressionless gaze raked over her. A silence, brimmed in trepidation, blanketed the room and the longer it stretched the more a tremor took hold of Mara until she moved to hide her hands. 

Hux finally shifted with the elegance of an emperor draped across a throne, two fingers beckoning her forward. She automatically obeyed, prying herself from the door and stopping directly in front of him, skin tingling at the way he held her gaze as it coursed through her like an electric current. 

_“Beg.”_

The demand drew a visceral balk from Mara, eyes narrowing in a rebellious streak that slipped through her facade. For a moment, she thought she misheard it, but the taunting smirk tugging his mouth proved otherwise.

“Excuse me—

“I want you to beg for it,” he repeated, words enunciated so sharply they punctured the air between them. “On your knees.”

“On my—

_“Knees.”_

Mara took a deep breath, exhaling through her nose, palpable fury stifled only by the teeth clamping her bottom lip. The General’s leer stayed trained on her, a dark gleam daring her to disobey. But she did not. She had come all this way and Le Hivre’s advice now echoed in her ears. _Do whatever you have to._

So instead, swallowing back her dignity and legs slowly folding beneath her, she lowered to the floor until her eyes were level with his belt buckle. The compliant position only recalled her punishment in the command shuttle, causing her cunt to clench in erotic agony.

“Now,” Hux sneered, tongue clicking in precise delight as he leaned forward. “Why should I forgive you?”

“Because I didn’t mean any harm,” Mara whispered, peeking up from under fanned lashes, voice hitching girlishly. Would the innocent coquette play well with his domineering mood?

“You convinced a Lieutenant in my command to commit an infraction punishable by reconditioning. Would you consider that harm?”

“He didn’t do anything!” She cried, hands flying to his kneecaps in frantic reflex. The livid look scorching her skin made her regret it instantly. The General was dead serious about unpermitted touching and she had committed a very grave error. She tried to retract her touch, fingers springing back but Hux was lightning fast, clapping his hands over her own, trapping them as if refusing to let it be forgotten.

“And yet he claimed it was his idea,” Hux contested, voice husky as two fingers hooked the collar of her uniform, pressing against her jugular as he pulled her closer until his breath tickled her lips. “Are you calling the Lieutenant a liar?”

“No, sir.” Her eyes lowered in submission, too flustered by their proximity. Instead, she glanced down only to find a ridge hardening against his thigh and her own sex roiled in recourse. Suddenly, Ren’s wicked descriptions filled her head and her face grew instantly hot. “It’s just that…” She swallowed. “I made him do it.”

“And how did you manage that?” He asked, neck lolling to one side and voice softening in curiosity, though she sensed the sardonic undertone. His leather thumb brushed across her lips, causing her skin to pucker keenly in response. 

“I _begged_ ,” Mara countered, gaze snapping up to meet him with glimmering impudence. It was a complete gamble. He could punish her for being so bold and she tensed in anticipation of a stinging slap. But instead, a single eyebrow rose in intrigue, lips repressing a bemused twist. So he was game. 

“Show me,” he breathed, hand gripping the back of her neck, inching her toward his lap. Mara tensed, unsure if she understood and at the same time terribly sure she did. 

“Show me how persuasive you can be.” 

Her entire body felt aflame as her fingers tentatively reached for his belt buckle, half expecting him to berate her for mistaking him as she struggled to unclasp it. It finally gave way, the click horrendously loud in her ears as it fell from his slender waist and then unhooked the band of his jodhpurs.

“Stop,” he barked. She searched his face in hot panic, terrified her instinct was misplaced. His hands brushed her own away, leaving them to hang at her sides. “Just your mouth.”

Blinking back confusion, her head lowered and hands pressed against the floor until she was on all fours, acutely aware of the steady rise and fall of his abdomen as her teeth latched on to the zipper tab. She pulled down and it seperated smoothly, nose and lips pressing against the warm bulge as his fly parted. Hux drew a sharp breath, the sound rippling in a twinge of pleasure to her wetted sex. 

When she reached the end, the General fully freed himself, the tip of his cock springing forward, a bead of precum brushing her lips as it fell. Mara flicked her gaze upward, catching the dark hunger reflecting back as he traced the viscous bridge connecting him to her flushed pout. Her tongue darted out, swiping the sticky residue from the seam of her mouth and his Adam's apple bobbed in unmasked approval.

Mara sat back on her heels to drink in the sight of him: the most dangerous man in the galaxy hovered over her, hard, breathless and black-eyed with desire. It was surreal, being trapped in the center of his web. His little, glittering fly, willingly bound in spider silk, each delicate thread trilling in terror as he drew closer to the prey who was both subject to his mercy and subverting his power. It was her submission that unraveled him. And it was clarifying and intoxicating and Mara had never felt more wanton than in that moment.

She took a deep breath, exhaling softly against the pink tip poised at her mouth. Her shining lips part, enveloping the pulsing head, laving every inch pushing further inside. It glides smoothly and her tongue swirls around the hot, spongy flesh, earning a strangled groan from Hux who involuntarily bucks his hips, eyes fluttering in relief. The sudden jolt slams his cock to the back of her throat and she’s sputtering and gagging around him, tears springing to her eyes. He pulls back but looks pleased. Yes, he probably got off knowing he was big enough to choke her.

“Fuck,” he moaned, a keen desperation lighting his eyes as he deeply inhaled. His gloved fingers rested at her temples, gently carding her loose hair, caressing it away from her face. “Now as I recall, you were going to beg...and yet you’re as quiet as a mouse,” he added facetiously, studying the full lips suctioning his girth. She tried pulling away to speak but was stopped by the General’s hand cupping the back of her head, keeping her pinned to his crotch and throat sheathing his cock.

“Uh-uh,” he nodded, holding her in place, saliva pooling under her tongue. “I want to hear you beg around my cock.”

Mara cut her eyes at him, neck jerking backward defiantly in a desperate bid for freedom. An amused look was all Hux could spare for her struggles as he retaliated in kind, forcing her to take more of him. Her jaw craned open to accommodate him until his flushed organ pressed the back of her throat. She whined in protest, her wet cavern vibrating and constricting around him, breath blowing angrily through her nostrils. 

Despite his reaction, the General’s hardened erection proved just how much he enjoyed her little tantrum. He gave a few more thrusts for good measure, testing her gag reflex, seeing just how far he could go. “ _Mhhm,_ ” he purred, “See—” eyes smoldering as her chin pressed into his sac. “You’re capable.” 

She was more prepared this time, but the way he drove into her, so deeply, it triggered the glands in the back of her throat, filling it with saliva until it dribbled from the corners of her lips. Hux used a gloved finger to wipe it away.

“Just think of our poor Lieutenant.” His tone hitched, cloyingly sympathetic, and eyebrows knitted together in mock pity. “If you don’t succeed…I’ll be forced to recondition him.”

An anguished cry of real sympathy for that little idiot tore from her throat, mouth swallowing desperately around his cock as panic rose in her chest. Her whimpering had little effect on Hux except to heighten the aroused haze clouding his features.

“Do you know what reconditioning is, kitten?”

The endearment faltered on the fine edge of filthy and refined on his lips, making her clit ache inexplicably. She finally nodded, mouth plugged by the throbbing erection twitching against her lips. Reconditioning was something whispered about among recruits, but never spoken of openly. All Mara knew was that it must be serious if the General would threaten her with it after Nal Hutta.

“It’s re-education—yes...” he answered casually and then paused, as if thinking. “But mostly torture.” 

She let out a muffled yelp, caught between desire and distress at the heavy length swelling against her tongue, her own pleasure in obvious neglect from the soaking gusset wedged against her clit.

“It’s too bad— _ah_ —” he gasped, his hands accelerating the bobbing rhythm of her mouth. “He’s never been reconditioned. Too obedient for that.” Hux stopped suddenly, thumbs pressing under her jaw and tipping her face up to watch his cock spread her lips as it slipped free with a lascivious _pop._

“Perhaps I’ll assign your friend Le Hivre to him. I hear he has _quite_ the reputation.”

Mara froze, the terror-struck Mitaka from the officer’s lounge came rushing back and she wondered if it was not Le Hivre’s position that inspired fear but _Le Hivre himself._ Stunned and blinking rapidly in genuine surprise as his sopping wet length dangled beneath her chin.

“You hadn’t heard? Well, perhaps you should have thought twice before corrupting my Lieutenant.” He snarled, shoving the tip through her open gape and fisting her hair in a brutal pace. 

“...with those wide, innocent eyes…” He hissed through clenched teeth, hand holding her steady for his cock to piston angrily in and out. “...and that soft mouth. Did you suck him off too?”

The refusal came in a stifled groan, buried under his heaving length. His rutting pitched frantically as if spurred on in jealous rage, hips flexing as he plunged deeper, ravaging her throat in punishing strokes that threatened to gag her. Her hands reached for his hips but she didn’t stop him. Not that she could if she wanted to, but because she didn't. The pearly liquid leaking from her cunt spoke the truth: it turned her on.

He pulled out again, the slippery tip bobbling from between her lips. “Open,” he growled, rigid flesh pumping in one hand, the other gripping her jaw. An aroused heat consumed her, pulse racing wild with the knowledge of what he intended. With face creased in sublime pleasure, his strokes grew frantic and uneven, the plump head blinking from within his leathered grip. At the last second, Mara shut her eyes and felt the first drops of cum splatter her tongue.

 _“Look at me, kitten!”_

She obeyed, gaze popping open to find his pupils blown, irises reduced to blue chords as the last milky drops of ecstasy coated her mouth and lips. She stayed like that, kneeled between his thighs, mouth hanging open to display the sticky residue gathered on her tongue and dripping from her curled lip. Her body shook with unsatiated lust as she watched his tongue swipe the seam of his lips, wetting them as his breathing slowed.

“Swallow.”

She forced it down, the gulping sound mingling with the satisfied sigh deflating his uniformed chest. The tension melted from his brow and he seemed to regress into a serene daze, hand caressing her hair once more, pushing a lock of it behind her ear. 

“Good.”

She relaxed, eyes falling shut as she sunk to the floor, relief racking her body and escaping her lungs. The General tucked himself away, righting his clothes and rising from the chair. Mara had yet to move, dizzy with shallow breath, studying the naval boots that stepped around her.

“Clean yourself up and get out.”

“But—the Lieutenant?” She asked, rooted to the floor, twisting to follow him as he made for the door.

“Spared,” Hux replied tersely, pulling his greatcoat from a hook by the door and walking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve appreciated all of the wonderful notes and kudos! Thanks for reading and can’t wait to conclude this little mission with you next time!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara is left alone in the General’s quarters. When things go awry, an unusual ally comes to her rescue.

X.

  
Mara intently stared at the threshold through which Hux had just disappeared. She dared not move, still sprawled across the floor of his compartment, waiting for him to return any second. What felt like an age passed, but what was in reality only a few minutes, anticipating the whoosh of its opening, framed by the General’s imposing silhouette. But it remained still. No sound of nearby shuffling reached her ears no matter how hard she listened for it. It seemed he really had left her alone and maybe even left the _Finalizer_ if he was truly embarking for whatever the _Supremacy_ was. 

Mara turned back to the now empty armchair before her, a chill quivering through her at the very clear image conjured: her mouth milking the General’s cock as he gripped her hair in dizzying pleasure. Slumping against the seat of the armchair, her head dropped into the cushion, smelling the General’s scent as she cradled her head in her arms. 

She had done something so, so very stupid. Probably the stupidest thing she could have done, and yet what other choice was there? There was no _real_ explanation for a subordinate presumptuously entering a superior’s personal quarters uninvited. And even her attempt at explanation was flimsy at best and an obvious lie at worst. He might have killed her right then and there had she attempted to run. Hux had already shown he was capable of heedless, cold-blooded vengeance if provoked and Mara needed to stay on the right side of him. That much was abundantly clear after Nal Hutta.

Raising her head and bracing against the armchair, Mara finally rose to her feet, the incredible reality of it all rushing over her like twin waves of euphoria and debilitating dread. She was standing in the middle of General Hux’s personal quarters. Alone. 

With heart racing, Mara whirled around to take in her surroundings. It was exactly as she remembered it from the night they dined together: sparsely decorated, darkly lit, and immaculately clean. As if no one had ever lived in it. 

Despite the sterile furnishings, something flashed in the corner of her eye, drawing her toward a wall covered in shelving. One of its ledges displayed a long dagger, held aloft by a display stand. It bore scrollwork inscribed in its blade and looked sharp enough to slice a finger if gently skimmed. It was likely some important artifact from a piece of military history that meant nothing to Mara. And it was most likely stolen, she thought cynically. 

The other shelves contained a collection of sinister oddities: a crystallized skull, its empty sockets glowing where eyes should be; a mace of black obsidian adorned in glittering jewels on one end; and lastly, an unembellished urn honed in durite. Something told her this was no ornamental piece. Hux didn’t strike her as the type to collect objects purely for aesthetic value. It was more than that. 

She reached for the urn against her better judgement, lifting the small lid. It was full of a fine dust that could be nothing but charred remains. And something told her it was the remains of none other than the late Brendol Hux imprisoned within that unremarkable vessel. Poor bastard. Hopefully he suffered.

Mara took a deep breath, returning the urn to its rightful place among its antiquitous brethren. She needed to find the droid, transmit the intel and get out of Hux’s compartment as fast as possible. But an instinct warned her against the needling anxiety that endorsed haste above all else. Hux was far away by now. How many more situations like this would present themselves? She should slow down, take her time and exploit this rare opportunity knowing that it would be at least a few hours before he returned. So instead, she searched every visible inch of his quarters, looking for something, anything that might be useful to the Resistance. 

No drawer went unopened, no cushion unturned and despite her thoroughness, it was clear Hux left nothing of importance behind. At least not in the main living area. Abandoning her search there, Mara moved toward the other three doors situated at the back of his quarters. The furthest one at corridor’s end was most likely his bedroom. The thought of seeing such personal affects brought a strange trill of excitement and arousal. She reached for the door, pressing the release, it made a clicking sound, the entry button flashing, but the door refused to budge. She pressed again and the button flashed red this time, denying her entry. Mara bit her lip. _Really hope that droid isn’t in there._

She tried the other door, which she assumed was his personal office and it too flashed red in smug delight. Suddenly she understood why Hux wasn’t too concerned with leaving her behind. A frustrated scream bubbled up, tearing out of her throat as she hammered the door in unleashed fury. One last door left. Mara held her breath, pressing down on the access panel. To her relief, the release blinks green, sliding open to reveal a small closet with one black, shining RA-7 protocol droid standing sentry inside. _Thank the fucking galaxy._

“Threebee-six.” 

Its giant, arthropodic eyes lit up in recognition, as if she had awoken a sleeping artifact.

“How may I be of service?” asked a mechanized voice programmed at a very low, monotone register. 

“Just come out here.”

Threebee-six dutifully creaked forward, out of the closet and into the light of the narrow corridor. Mara bit back a gasp at the sight of him, forgetting just how disturbing these Death Star droids appeared with their giant eyes and mandibles fitted with triangular vocoders like Darth Vader himself. Unlike the 3P0 models made to resemble humans, RAs had bodies like other protocol droids but faces resembling grotesque, half-human, half-beetle crossbreeds.

“I’m registering disgust,” Threebee announced, buggish eyes staring blankly.

“I’m not disgusted!” Mara protested in a very poor attempt at recovery as she squeezed around the back side of his metal body.

“What are you doing?”

“Stop asking so many questions,” she barked, jamming the data card from Le Hivre into the slot on the droid’s neck. “I just need to find out what this is.”

Threebee’s black eyes lit up blue, acting as a projector for the image now bouncing off the corridor wall. Mara peered over his shoulder, watching the giant, boomerang shaped ship turn slowly as if it hung in a display window. So that’s what Le Hivre was sending. Schematics. 

“What _is_ that?”

She couldn’t get a sense for the size of it until the slow spin displayed the stern where thirty or more sublights jutted from behind it.

“The _Supremacy,_ ” Threebee blurted, as if rattling off printed specs, “a _Mega-_ class Dreadnaught. Sixty kilometers long. Twelve kilometers wide. Constructed from Quadanium steel. Produced by Kuat-Entralla Engineering. Capacity of two point two million personnel—

“Two point two _million?!”_

This was the _Supremacy._ This is where Hux resided at this very moment. On a giant ship capable of completely wiping out the entire Resistance in one fell swoop. She needed to hurry. 

Mara quickly located the cranial data uplink and punched in the number supplied, intently watching the lights blink below the data slot as they filled up a display bar in rapid succession. They finally all blinked green and Mara pressed a button, launching a tiny microphone out of Threebee’s back. 

“I’m uploading a dispatch from Resistance intel. It’s a schematic of the First Order ship, the _Supremacy._ It’s likely the largest ship in their fleet, but that’s unconfirmed at this time. It also comes with a manifest and diagrams of their security detail for each level,” she said, providing commentary for the images flashing before her. “And I have intel on our target. He’s undergoing a series of negotiations for resources including long term fuel reserves. Be wary of any dealings with the Anjiliac kajidic. I repeat—the Anjiliac kajidic. They have allegiance to the First Order in a clan war over what happened on Nal Hutta. _Do not_ engage them. End transmission.”

Mara popped the recording device back into Threebee and pressed the upload confirmation. The lights flashed in succession again, followed by a fully-lit bar confirming a successful upload.

“Alright, go back to your closet,” Mara ordered, feeling a strange twinge of guilt at thoughtlessly banishing him to his lightless prison. Whether he resented the order or not, she would never know as Threebee did as she bade without the officious missives Threepio would have surely given.

With the droid safely stored away, Mara stalked across Hux’s quarters, the weight of her first complete mission lifting her spirits as she stood at the threshold. The only question left to answer was: when would she be able to do this again? 

She gave one last look to the fated armchair, skin tightening with exhilaration as she pressed the door’s release. Similar to Hux’s bedroom, the main door gave an ominous click, once, twice and a third time before the access indicator flashed red. _What the hell?_

She pressed it again. A series of three clicks followed by a taunting red light. The door’s obstinance unleashed a round of successively frantic presses until finally regressing into manic pounding, the button bearing the brunt of her panic. A crushing reality sunk to the depths of her stomach. What sort of security mechanism kept it locked from the outside?

_Oh god—this can’t be happening!_

By the umpteenth time, it was becoming alarmingly clear something was wrong and Mara wasn’t getting out until the General came back. And he would go ballistic when he did. 

Le Hivre said there were no security cameras so would anyone know she was in here? Hux was on a completely different ship—what if he didn’t return for days? A tide of panic rose within Mara, but was quickly squashed by prevailing rationale. The _Finalizer_ was his flagship. He wouldn’t be gone for days unless something drastic happened. Or he was killed. 

She just needed to find another way out.

Mara searched the perimeter of the living area, looking for an access panel or air duct. The quiet hum of a climate control unit came from somewhere near the kitchenette. She searched the cluster of cabinets to find a grate bolted on the wall above the refrigeration unit. Scrambling atop the counters, Mara could only imagine Hux’s horror if he knew she had stood on them to inspect it. With both hands, she measured the approximate width, but it was no use. Fitting herself through the opening was impossible, even if she found a way to wrench the cover off. 

Deflated, Mara returned to the door, screaming and kicking it in hopes someone would hear her before falling against it, defeated, winded and red-faced with effort wasted. A creeping suspicion told her that no matter how loud she howled for help, no one would ever hear her. And that was very likely on purpose.

 _How are you ever going to explain this?_ Mara wondered, back pressed against the door as she sunk to the ground, legs folding up against her chest. From the floor, the General’s empty quarters felt cavernous without his figure to anchor it. The room seemed mysteriously darker than before and Mara realized it was the absence of D’Qarian moonlight that doused her in shadow. The _Finalizer_ must have moved. Sometime during her search or perhaps the transmission. It had jumped to lightspeed judging by the other ships now amassing around it as they too exited the invisible tunnels of space.

A wave of resigned defeat pressed in around her at the sight of them, hanging so ominously in the blackness of space like carnivores circling the carrion. Appearing in miniature from where she sat, but with crews numbering the millions, all at the ready for a signal from the very man whose quarters she occupied. 

The Resistance was woefully insignificant by comparison, like a sonar swallow winging against the winds of an oncoming storm. Even the furniture of Hux’s room rose up menacingly from the floor, mountains of leather and chrome dominating a barren desert. And above her, the cosmos, so beautiful and breathtaking as it twinkled on Hux’s wall, as if it existed only for him, and her thoughts turned, not for the first time, to everyone she left behind. On D’Qar. On Brolsam. On Trigalis and every other place life had unceremoniously shuffled her away from.

Tears swam in her vision, reducing it all to a haunting blur of black and white. She was suddenly afraid. Not because she was crying, but because she couldn’t stop. If she died there, on the floor of General Hux’s quarters, it would be a fitting end to her failure. Helpless and useless to the people who most needed her. It was the last thought to graze her fragile mind as she lay down completely, face pressing against the unforgiving tiles, eyes falling in an exhaustion so complete that nothing could compete with the temporary reprieve promised of sleep, not even the fear of General Hux finding her. Commander Ren was right.

_You really are a terrible spy._   
  


**. . .**

A flood of white bleached her nightmares and when she awoke, the room itself. The light burned so harshly, it tattooed her vision with the spidery veins of her eyelids. She bolted up, tripping blindly over a chair as a horrible crash, like a hundred railcrawlers all screeching at once ripped the atmosphere asunder. Even as the room darkened again, the details of Hux’s quarters slowly coming into focus against the fading light, it was followed by a piercing shriek, loud enough to split eardrums, like a flashbang in space.

The _Finalizer_ rocked beneath her, creaking and heaving, furniture sliding across the room as everything shifted at once. Hux’s giant viewport lit up with the splintered remains of twenty other capital ships, all of them fractured into pieces as the _Finalizer_ surely was. The crunch of bending steel rattled the ship’s bowels and Mara held her breath, waiting for something so much worse. But nothing happened and instead an eerie silence rendered her completely still, terrified, as if one move might send it all crashing down.

Curiously, her gaze drifted again to the General’s shelves, now emptied from the blast. The crystal skull lay shattered on the floor and the urn, made of a more durable ore, rolled in a semicircle, top missing, ashes spraying everywhere. A new surge of fresh panic, more severe and paralyzing overtook her as the evidence of human mortality clung to her boots. If only she could find a way—

The droid. 

Maybe he could help, she thought, dashing into the hallway. Wouldn’t he have access to doors if he cleaned Hux’s quarters? Mara pressed the closet access panel, every second feeling like years as she waited for the door to slide back, once again revealing its sleeping resident.

“C’mon Threebee, we need to get outta here.”

Threebee said nothing, dutifully following, mechanical knees scissoring as he dawdled behind her into the main living area.

“Can you open this door?” Mara asked with breathless anticipation.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m not programmed to leave the premises,” he answered simply.

Heat rushed to her face, unable to speak or scream, the surge of panic causing her to double over, shoulders rising and falling with each breath drawn.

“I’m registering a spike in vital signs,” observed Threebee in that frustratingly calm voice. “Changes in body chemistry this severe signal what organics call a ‘panic attack.’”

“I KNOW I’m having a panic attack!” She hissed through teeth gritted, bracing the wall to steady herself against the vertigo, unsure if it was her or the ship violently rocking. When she looked up to see the First Order’s fleet disintegrating, it was through a web of crackled glass. Mara numbly walked toward it, fingers tracing the fractures, feeling the air seep out into the vacuum of space.

“We’re gonna die here,” she croaked, eyes watering as she felt another wave coming. “The ship’s pulling apart and this window won’t hold much longer. The oxygen is already leaking out.”

“I don’t require oxygen.”

“Fine, _I’ll_ die here,” she spat bitterly. “And you’ll just be space trash for eternity.”

There was a silence and Mara assumed it was from Threebee’s cogs finally registering the grim reality. His shiny, black apparatus ticked to the right, hand raised in thought and replied: “Might an embrace calm you?”

 _“Does the General usually tolerate this?”_ she snapped.

“Master Hux does not speak to me.”

The useless rebuttal readied on her lips lived and died all in one breath. Threebee stared back, face as void as ever, and yet she could have sworn a morose glint lit those lifeless lenses.

“I’m sorry,” she shrugged, an odd shame filling her.

“An apology is not necessary. You are only reconciling with the fragility of your human mortality.”

Threebee was rather perceptive for a droid. And Mara couldn’t find it within herself to sneer at the blunt delivery of that perception. Instead, her body moved without thinking, actions divorced of thought as she stepped toward Threebee, wrapping her arms around his metal chest. The embrace offered no comfort, but it was not comfort that she needed then. It was to feel connected, to someone or something, at the end of all things. Afterall, the droid brought her here.

“Thanks,” she whispered, too desperate for touch to feel stupid for hugging a droid. At first he stood completely still, clearly unfamiliar with the gesture he was offering. But then his mechanical arm reached across her back, the awkward zing of his joints breaking the silence as he patted her shoulder.

 _“Tallion?”_ A muffled voice came from somewhere overhead and with face pressed against Threebee’s metallic shoulder, she dared hope it wasn’t her imagination.

“Tallion! Are you in there?”

Mara sprung away from Threebee, pounding the door. “Yes! Yes—we’re here! We’re here!”

The door release flashed green, opening a tantalizing inch, wide enough to glimpse the outside hallway. The sliding mechanism whirred with effort, straining against whatever was jamming it, before giving up in defeat.

“It’s stuck!”

“Looks like it was damaged from the blast.” Came a voice she had never been more happy to hear in her entire life.

“Mitaka! Oh my god—Mitaka! You have to get us out of here!”

 _“Us?”_ The sliver she could glimpse of him through the door reduced him to a single, confused eye. “Who’s with you?”

“It’s the General’s droid.”

Mitaka’s dark eyebrow furrowed, “Oh—well, c’mon. We need to manually force it open. Grab it like this,” he said, fingers slithering through the gap and clamping over the door’s edge. Mara placed her own hands below Mitaka’s, gripping the other side and braced her foot against the doorframe for leverage. 

“On my count. Ready?”

“Ready,” Mara echoed back.

“One, two, three!”

With gritted teeth and labored groans they pulled together, white-knuckled from the strain. But despite their efforts, the opening only widened by mere inches. Mitaka directed them to try again, arms wobbling with effort, but the gap wouldn’t budge.

“Try to squeeze through!” 

“I don’t think I can,” Mara replied, voice faltering at the thought of being _this close_ to freedom and dying for only a few inches.

“Just try,” Mitaka urged, open palm reaching through the gap. Mara looked back at Threebee, who offered no shred of reassurance, those big glassy eyes reflected her own grimace, staring back in warped trepidation. 

Clapping her hand in his, Mitaka’s fingers encased her own in a sure-handed grip, drawing her arm out first. It slipped through, elbow grazing the ridged edge until her body hung halfway out.

“Almost there,” said Mitaka, voice surprisingly calm as a small, comforting smile graced his lips. “Just a little—

The ship lurched, cutting off his affirmations, eyes widening as they flashed to something further down the hallway. The acrid smell of burning alloy curled in her nostrils before smoke breezed through the door. Mitaka snapped back to her, face hardened and hands desperately working to wedge her out.

“I can’t!” Mara gasped, eyes welling as her hips breached the opening, unable to push further. “I can’t get through!”

“It’s okay, we’ll get you out.”

“Please don’t leave me here,” her voice grew shaky as the ship clattered around them.

 _“I won’t.”_ Mitaka answered without question, the conviction in those honest eyes held a promise, and in that moment, Mara believed him. 

“I swear.” He took a deep breath. “Now, let’s try something else.” Mitaka looked back down the hallway toward something she couldn’t see. “I’ll be back,” he added, squeezing her hand in one last reassurance. The loss of pressure to her palm sent a trill of fear through her as she waited helplessly for his return.

Moments later, Mitaka reappeared out of the billowing smoke, a long pipe in one hand. “Here,” he coughed, sliding it halfway through the opening, wedging it diagonally against the door’s edge. “We can use it as a fulcrum. Just hold it steady on your side.”

Mara did as instructed, hands gripping one end of the pipe, both feet bracing the frame to leverage her entire weight against her end.

“One, two, three!” Mitaka shouted, placing a forceful kick against his end. It opened a notch and relief rose within her. “Again!” He counted down, heel clacking against it, the pipe screeching as the door popped back under pressure, throwing Mara askew. She let out a laugh of pure joy, smiling as Mitaka pulled her up.

“C’mon Threebee!” She turned, reaching back toward the RA-7.

“I’m not authorized—

“Shut up!” She barked, grabbing his metallic arm.

“Just leave him!” shouted Mitaka, arm covering his mouth to shield it from the smoke.

“No!” Mara roared back. The only transmitter to the Resistance could not be left behind. The droid _had_ to come or it was all for naught.

“He can’t even run.”

“Help me pick him up!” she snapped, tipping Threebee sideways and grabbing him around the waist. “He doesn’t weigh that much.”

“Put me down!” Threebee cried, prompting Mara to flip off the audiobox.

“This is crazy!” Mitaka protested, but grabbed Threebee’s feet in surprising obedience as they shuffled him through the warren of hazy corridors.

Despite Mitaka’s objections, they managed to safely ferry the droid to level ten’s hangar, its docking bays now engulfed in flames. Mara could feel the rising heat bearing down on them as they boarded a _Xi-_ class shuttle, all while starfighters and frigates whipped up the flames as they scrambled away.

“I graduated top of the academy,” said Mitaka, immediately flipping levers and engaging the yoke. “But I’ll be honest. Flying wasn’t my strong suit.” The nav console lit up, showing all engines at full capacity, ready for takeoff. 

“My strong suit is surviving,” Mara muttered, dragging Threebee into an empty jump seat before dropping into the co-pilot chair. “So I’m not out to judge your flying. Let’s just get the hell outta here.”

“Copy that!” he echoed, pulling the yoke forward, the ship’s thrusters roaring to life as they too pulsed forward, escaping the crumbling hangar into the velvety folds of space.

For the first time in hours, the hormonal cocktail of fight or flight dissipated from Mara. She sunk into the command chair, muscles finally relaxing in the knowledge that she was safe. For now. 

Her gaze flicked to Mitaka who sat ramrod straight, professional stance fully engaged as he focused intently on the controls. He caught her gaze in his periphery, dark eyes darting at her, the corners of them crinkling in a small smile. For the record, her view of him hadn’t changed. He was still a brainwashed crony like the rest of them, but he certainly wasn’t the worst of them.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely registering over the humming engines.

“For what?”

“You _know_ what.” Mara challenged, watching the twisted skeins of wreckage float past. “I’m sure risking your life for another isn’t protocol.”

“No. You’re right,” he relented, voice solemn and gaze trained on the console. “We’re taught to leave the fallen behind. It sounds harsh, but endangering two isn’t worth the risk of saving one.”

“I’m surprised you could override your programming,” Mara spat sarcastically, anxiously grasping at the words as they slipped off her tongue.

His brows shot up, not in offense but in amusement as a suppressed chuckle vibrated through him. “We’re not all robots, you know. A good officer knows when to make exceptions,” he said, flipping the autopilot on as they escaped the wreckage zone. “And besides...the General would have _killed_ me if I came back empty-handed.” 

He gave a good-natured grin and Mara found herself returning it. “I was just picking my poison.”

“Wait— _he_ sent you?”

“That’s how I knew where to find you,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I was still on the bridge when he commed me, right after the blast—

“What _caused_ that?”

He took a deep breath. “I’d never believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. It was that rebel ship—the one we were tailing for half a cycle. We got word the rebels boarded escape transport to a nearby planet—

“—Did they?” she asked, almost too excitedly.

“Apparently,” he shrugged. “But someone stayed behind. We thought the lead ship was empty, but it wasn’t. It turned back and jumped to lightspeed. Crashed right into the fleet.”

“That light,” she murmured, more to herself than Mitaka. It was unthinkable. Who was crazy enough to try that? A name shot to her subconscious, chest squeezing in anguish at the thought. Hopefully she was wrong. 

“That _light_ was a cruiser exploding into a million pieces and ripping through us like shrapnel. It was so bright it blinded me for a minute. But once I could see, I used the General’s codes to access his turbolift.”

 _A personal turbolift?_ The mention of it caught Mara’s ear. That explained how he beat her to his quarters. But how did he _know_ she was still there? It had been hours since Hux left her sprawled on the floor and she should have been long gone by the time Mitaka arrived.

“How did you open the door?”

“I told you, I’m his adjutant. I have emergency clearance for most anywhere in the whole fleet.”

 _Really?_ Mara was thankful he wasn’t looking at her just then, otherwise he would have caught the interest piqued in her gaze. It was like finding a piece of a puzzle. She just wasn’t sure what the picture was yet.

“Where are we going?”

“To where the rebels are going,” he replied, pointing to the pearly orb floating in front of them. “Crait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy plot chapter and I’m sorry this one is a little late! It ended up being longer than I had anticipated. Next time, we’ll join our main squeeze on Crait...and see how things develop there. ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara and Mitaka escape to the Steadfast. Mara is called to meet with the new Supreme Leader and finds herself between a rock and a hard place.

XI.

_Crait._ Yes, Mara knew that one. Sector N-17. 

With eyes closed, she could picture the giant map pinned to D’Qar’s bunker wall clearly, red X’s denoting every abandoned outpost in the known galaxy should it come to that. General Organa was a veteran of the Galactic Civil War. She knew a thing or two about contingencies, but Crait was hardly the ideal choice. The outpost was fortified with a metal door made of Quadanium, the same as Star Destroyer hulls, but it was defensively archaic and if Mara recalled, built into a cliffside. It was more of a cave than a base. 

Mitaka flew them to a staging area above the Northern continent where a cadre of new battlecruisers, likely marshalled from posts abroad, amassed in the upper atmosphere. Peering from the starboard port, Mara found a whole volley of refugee transport escorting them, noses headed for the gaping hangars of larger ships ahead. 

“We’ll dock in the _Steadfast,_ ” said Mitaka, voice dropping to a near whisper as he keyed the entry code. “I’ve heard General Pryde isn’t Hux’s biggest fan, but...we shouldn’t have any problems.”

The off-hand comment perked Mara’s ears. Even the worst spy knew to never let a good piece of gossip get away.

“Why?” She probed, watching the _Steadfast’s_ tractor beam reel them into its waiting mouth.

“It’s sort of ah…” He waffled on the words, as if thinking of a polite way to describe it. “Old guard thing.”

“He served the Empire?”

“Yes,” Mitaka answered, neck craning toward his datapad where he fired off a message, likely to General Hux himself. “Hux was always favored for his ingenuity and ambition. And he _is_ the youngest General leading the Order’s combined forces while Pryde has been on reserve in some remote posting. I think it’s ruffled his feathers—if you know what I mean.” 

So it was a classic case of ageism, Mara thought. The older, presumably wiser and more battle-hardened General was threatened by the acumen of his younger peer. The concept wasn’t novel, even in the Resistance ranks which was also made up of veterans and newcomers, but at least under Organa it wouldn’t amount to literal backstabbing. 

The shuttle’s landing gear deployed, pulling Mara from her thoughts as the shock absorbers creaked on contact with the hangar floor. 

“What do we do now?”

“General Hux is planetside with Commander Ren,” said Mitaka, nose still deep in his messages as the main cabin lights flickered on. “He’s instructed us to stay here until there’s an all-clear. It sounds like they’re taking ground fire.”

 _Ground fire?_ The Resistance must be backed into a corner if they’re trying to shoot their way out. A darker, more insidious thought penetrated her subconscious. What if it _did_ end here? What if the Resistance was wiped out? Here. Now. Where would that leave her? Stranded on the inside. The prospect turned her veins to ice. Surely Le Hivre had thought of this very scenario before. Surely he had a plan for extraction should it come to that. But she hadn’t heard from the Colonel since the blast. He could be dead for all she knew. 

With arms crossed to disguise the tremble in her fingers, Mara stood up to relieve the nervous energy riddling her body. She left Mitaka in the cockpit, stumbling toward Threebee-six who hadn’t moved from his jumpseat. Flipping his audiobox, she expected protest, but he remained silent as if he had long accepted his serventile lot in life. 

The shuttle doors opened, hydraulic pistons hissing as the platform lowered. As military protocol dictated the most senior officer lead the procession, Mitaka walked out first with Mara and Threebee trailing close behind. As they stepped out into the hangar, Mara took in her surroundings, suddenly overwhelmed by the bright lights and buzzing spacecraft crowding every inch of the docking bay. Hordes of officers, technicians and Stormtroopers arriving from evacuated ships flooded the flightline, crowding the _Steadfast’s_ interior blast doors.

Mitaka, who possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of ships, led them up a flight of railed stairs onto a catwalk above the hangar. Stopping at a side door, he used his code cylinders to access it, bypassing the crowd and walking directly into the quarter deck. It was on this level where they found General Pryde’s own adjutant, Lieutenant Trach. Trach was a particularly dour officer with a face of serious lines and scant interest in helping them find the official processing center. 

“If Lieutenant Mitaka is here, then the _Finalizer_ must be in pieces,” came a surly voice from behind them. 

They both whipped around, Mitaka snapping to attention and Mara, forgetting her training completely, gave the older man a quizzical once over. By now, she easily recognized a General’s double striped arm band. And by the severe gaze, receding hairline and mouth pulled like a wrinkled drawstring, it could be none other than...

“General Pryde,” Mitaka barked, heels clicking together. Despite the steely veneer, Mara caught the hurt in his eyes. To her, the _Finalizer_ was nothing but a maze of terrors and trap doors, but to Mitaka who spent half his life eating, sleeping and working aboard it, it was a kind of home. Admiration for a ship was something even she could appreciate after serving in the Resistance. All naval officers were the same in some respects, and to speak so flippantly about the destruction of one’s home was despicable.

“Yes sir. It was a rebel suicide mission. We were caught in the blast zone,” he took a deep breath, the only microexpression to hint at a deeper sorrow. “I’m afraid most of it’s destroyed.”

“Always underestimating the enemy, isn’t he?” Pryde sneered. He needn’t refer to anyone by name. Mara knew exactly who the General insulted. “It’s lucky that the _Steadfast_ is here to pick up those pieces…”

Maybe it was the harrowing hours of the last cycle or a lack of real sleep, Mara wasn’t sure, but something burned white hot behind her ears and if Pryde had stopped to even notice her, the fire lighting her eyes would have torched him. Mitaka’s lips twisted, biting back a response. He looked as if he may defend Hux, but years of conditioning stepped in where Mara’s impulse stepped out.

“Lucky indeed, sir!” she replied in a rising falsetto, eyes shining with inflated fervor. “We can’t all be serving on the front lines, of course!”

There was an awkward silence, Mitaka engaging every ounce of self control to repress a smile at her “innocent” observation and the resulting scowl spreading Pryde’s severe face.

“Who are you?”

“Sir, this is—

“My friends!” A smooth, Imperial accent cut in, sending a sigh of relief coursing through her at the familiar sound. Colonel Orman le Hivre sashayed into their circle, looking no worse for wear, hand clapping Mara’s shoulder. “General Pryde, you know the Lieutenant of course and this is officer Mara Tallion, interpreter to General Hux.”

Pryde gave no salutations, just a glare that threatened to deep freeze the darkest caves of Hoth.

“They just escaped a war zone,” said Le Hivre, sporting a suave smile, all teeth and polished skin. “Now I know you two aren’t harassing our dear General.”

“No sir!” piped Mitaka, the consummate professional.

“That was a joke, Lieutenant.”

Somehow Pryde didn’t seem the type to appreciate playful ribbing, though she was grateful for Le Hivre’s intervention. 

“I’ll escort them to processing,” volunteered Le Hivre when the ice refused to melt. “Come with me,” he said, beckoning them on before giving one last nod to Pryde, “General.”

As they veered off into another corridor, Le Hivre stopped suddenly, charm dissipating into clipped discipline as he turned to Mitaka. “Lieutenant, take the General’s droid with you to processing. It’s on level nine, sector fifteen. I need to speak with Officer Tallion.”

Mitaka gave a knowing look as if he wanted to say something, but a dutiful servant to the Order wouldn’t dare disobey a superior. Especially an LO.

“Yes, sir.”

Mitaka marched away, followed by Threebee who fell further and further behind as they headed toward the turbolifts. Once out of earshot, Mara looked up to Le Hivre, eyes conveying a million questions that burned her tongue, but she knew better than to speak openly. 

The Colonel motioned her forward with a nod, leading her down a side corridor where he held his code cylinder against an access panel. The door slid open to reveal a tiny room, more like a dark closet and nearly claustrophobic compared to the ship’s canyonesque thoroughfares.

“What is this?”

Instead of answering, Le Hivre hushed her, pulling them both inside. The door closed, dousing them in complete darkness until lights rose in red tint, shading their faces in a molten glow. 

“It’s an observation deck,” he answered and Mara turned to see her reflection, as if cast in blood against a window to a larger, inner room. The second room sat on a lower level, allowing her to look down into the empty pit where a spotlight illuminated a contraption. Human in shape and horror in mien, it evoked fear instinctively. Without explanation, Mara knew it was an interrogation chamber and the chair at its center was designed for torture and restraint. It forced her to face the truth about her mentor: Le Hivre had been on both sides of this one-way mirror. 

“I brought you here because it’s soundproof. And safe.”

“I thought you said all the rooms are bugged?”

“They are, but this one’s under SB control.” She saw his reflection standing behind her and she recalled General Hux’s words: _I hear he has quite the reputation._ “I can have the feed altered.”

“Must be urgent for you to openly dismiss Mitaka like that.” Mara found herself inching away from him. Something about this room, even beyond the eerie red lights, made her wary. “He seemed a little suspicious.”

“I know. It’s not ideal,” he sighed. “Normally I would have waited, but the dynamics are... _changing_ in the Order. And it could present an extraordinary opportunity or a very grave danger.”

“What happened?”

“Supreme Leader Snoke is dead.”

The words echoed off every surface of the tiny room before landing harshly in Mara’s ears. She stood speechless for a second, staring at her own reflected disbelief, mirrored in red. Of all the revelations she had prepared herself for, this was not one of them.

“It’s true. I was briefed by General Hux himself.”

 _“How?”_ she asked, finally finding her voice.

“Only Commander Ren knows the truth, but he’s alleging it was the rebel Jedi. He says she killed Snoke and escaped. And now he’s assumed the mantle of Supreme Leader.”

“Wow…” _The rebel Jedi._ It sent a thrill through her, knowing that the Resistance had a real Jedi on their side. And perhaps a real chance of winning this war. 

“I’m sure Hux is thrilled,” she added.

“He’s murderous,” Le Hivre shrugged. “But this could be a good thing. Think about it. With Ren in charge, he could either be a target for influence or—

“A wildcard,” Mara finished, more sure of the latter.

“It all depends on what happens now.”

“What’s the status with the Resistance? Are they alright?” _Is Poe alright?_ she wanted to ask, but knew Le Hivre would have no way of knowing.

“That’s the other news,” said Le Hivre, voice lowering. “Two Resistance members were found on the _Supremacy,_ just before the blast—”

“Who were they?” 

“I don’t have names. But they were trying to access the hyperspace tracker. Those schematics were on them—the ones you sent—but the security details must have been wrong or outdated because they walked straight into an SB unit.”

Mara’s pulse thrummed against her fingertips. “Where are they now?” 

“No one can confirm. They were supposed to be executed, but no one knows if they were or if they died in the blast,” Le Hivre turned to look down on the interrogation room. “Or even got away in the scramble.”

“So you’re saying _we_ could have killed them?” She finally turned to face the Colonel dead on, a cold realization creeping through her. Not only were those hours of toil and terror for nothing, but they endangered her allies. Maybe even her friends.

“ _WE_ didn’t kill them,” he forcefully corrected, neck craning toward her. “ _WE_ gave them the best data we had.”

“But it was bad!” 

“I don’t know what to tell you! It’s not always right.”

“But how could it be wrong?!” She shrieked, hands flying to her face, rubbing it in shock. “The First Order is a lot of things, but they’re not sloppy. How could their specs be out of date? They wouldn’t have old security details just lying around.”

“What’s your point?” Le Hivre pushed, his demeanor oddly composed in the face of her rising hysteria.

“My point is…” her voice lowered to a whisper, trying to choose her next words carefully. “What if it was on purpose?”

 _“What are you talking about?”_ he breathed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What if we’re compromised?”

“By who?” Le Hivre jabbed, as if she had truly lost it. 

“I don’t know!” Mara howled, feeling more ridiculous by the second. “You said yourself that you didn’t know who the others were. What if they’re in FOSB and _they’re_ compromised? What if they know and sent you bad intel?”

Le Hivre’s face fell still, head angling downward and eyes flashing from under his furrowed brow. “Don’t be paranoid.”

“Paranoid!? That’s the fucking job, isn’t it?” _How could he say that_ — _of all people!_

“I get it. This is new. But don’t get worked up over bad intel. It’s unfortunate, but it _happens_.”

“It’s not just bad intel! It’s people— _real_ people dying because of it!”

“I KNOW!” he snapped, voice booming in the small space, eyes wild and glowing red in the tinted lights. Mara sprung away, hitting the wall in one backward stride. There was a beat of silence. Le Hivre stood suspended at his full height before slumping back, as if her cowering sucked the rage from him in one gale. He leaned against the window, arms crossed and returning to a quiet register when he finally spoke again. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to minimize it. You’re right. But you have to stay calm and don’t jump to any drastic conclusions.”

Despite the return to his normal gait, docile and defanged, Mara kept to the wall, not daring to move closer. As if the other Le Hivre may pounce at any moment.

“If someone’s feeding us bad intel, another compromised spy or not,” said Le Hivre, voice calm and controlled. “ _I will deal with it.”_

The statement was meant to mollify her, but it only raised her hackles further. What did that mean? _Deal with it?_ How? Her gaze fell again to the torture chamber. The answer perhaps lay at her feet.

The beeping of her wrist comm startled them both from the tense silence. She held her breath, pressing the release as their eyes met.

“Officer Tallion,” growled General Hux, voice tinny as it flitted through the speaker. “The Supreme Leader requests an audience.” The words, _Supreme Leader,_ rolled off his tongue as if it left a terrible taste. “Report to the private meeting room on level twelve.”

“On my way, sir.”

Mara unleashed a deep breath, moving toward the door. Le Hivre said nothing, as if ashamed of his explosive outburst. _Good_ , Mara thought as she closed the door behind her, escaping that horrible room.

Mara had hoped for a moment to steel herself, but the meeting room door wooshed open before she could even peer into its photoreceptor. She expected them both, Command— _Supreme Leader_ Ren and General Hux to be waiting, but it was only the General who regarded her entry with a disinterested scowl and no Kylo Ren in sight. _How things have changed in just one cycle,_ she thought, taking a seat next to him at the conference table and trying not to think of the state he had left her in.

The General’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere, not that she expected an apology or an acknowledgement of everything he had put her through. He seemed too ensnared in his own plight to even consider her added presence. She could practically feel the fumes rising off him as they both waited in a silence pregnant with latent unease.

“I see the Lieutenant retrieved you in one piece,” he intoned, neck swiveling to rake his cold eyes over her.

“Yes sir.” Mara ducked his gaze, not wanting to make eye contact as the reality of their last encounter sent a deep blush up her neck.

“Go on, officer," Hux added smugly, fingers casually flicking a datapad screen. "I can hear your gears spinning.” 

His perceptiveness was uncanny at times.

“How did you know I was still there?” She finally turned to look at him, a streamline of black, perfectly tailored and tranquil despite the contempt surely boiling him alive. “In your room?”

“Because I locked you in,” he answered simply, as if imprisoning subordinates was a routine operation.

“You _told_ me to leave!”

“Changed my mind.”

“I could have died there.”

“You would have died otherwise,” he said flatly, fingers flicking the screen. “I hear level seven took a direct hit.”

“But you couldn’t have known—

“That a crazed rebel would destroy our fleet?” he questioned harshly, one light eyebrow raised as he finally met her gaze. “I didn’t,” he tutted, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms, clearly a favorite stance. “But I knew after the bridge that you couldn’t be trusted not to meddle and locking you in there was safer than letting you roam.”

‘Safer for _who?’_ she wanted to scream, but there was no time now. The magnetic clicking of a disengaged lock cloaked them in disquiet as the man they waited for had finally arrived. The room seemed to shrink with Kylo Ren’s presence as if he took up more than physical space. Mara didn’t dare look up, too terrified to peer into the mask that undoubtedly peered down on her. Instead, she studied her fingers, threading and unthreading them in her lap.

“I’ve called you here to discuss our next move.” 

The voice grazing Mara’s ears was not the one she had expected. Unmodulated. Still deep, but clear and smooth like black glass. She finally deigned to look at him, speechless at the man she saw. It was not a mask. It was a pale visage, flecked in a constellation of tiny moles. It was a scar that split his face in two. It was _him._

It was the dark-haired stranger with the plush pout whose face she saw between her legs, lips mouthing her clit that now ached in the memory of it. But it couldn’t be. She had never _seen_ his face. She couldn’t dream about a face she never knew. And yet there he was, sitting across from her, black eyes smoldering with bloodlust from a battlefield not yet cold.

“Seems premature for that.” Hux spat, breaking Ren’s gaze and Mara’s shock. “The Resistance is hardly a smoke signal but they’re not snuffed out completely.”

She barely registered the comment, managing little more than a loose-lipped gape, grateful that her superior sat angled away from her. The way Ren stared back, through Hux completely, only confirmed her fears. His appearance in her dream was no mistake. 

_“No...”_ she whispered to herself in a shaky exhale, their voices disappearing beneath the blood pounding in her ears. Mara’s entire body grew hot, the reality of it drowning her in wave after wave of humiliation. How much had he seen? Everything?

_Yes._

The resounding voice was not her own. Her head snapped at Ren, eyes narrowing. Did he just say that? Out loud? But he no longer looked at her, now engaged in a heated argument with the General. 

“Which is why I will pursue them—

“ _You?”_ The General’s voice hitched in obvious disbelief. “Surely the Supreme Leader has more important matters to attend to.”

For a moment, the room disappeared before her, both men falling away with it. An image flickered into life, slithering across her subconscious. Stripped and splayed beneath General Hux, her bare legs wrapping his waist, glutes flexing as he pumped slowly into her— _fuck!_ _Stop it!_

“No,” Ren countered. “ _You_ have more important matters to attend to.”

“Which is…?”

Mara’s face flushed, breath quickening as she tried to think of something, anything but the thoughts clouding her mind now. It was no use. The fantasy roared back in explicit revenge, etched in greater detail. Not just an image, but an entire room cropped up, _the_ room she sat in now. She was there, not seated, but bent naked over the table, legs straddling the General who lay beneath her, wrists pinned in his grip as he forced her onto his pulsing cock. She swallowed, eyes glazing over as she watched the wet tip breach her tender slit while a second pair of gloves smoothed her ass, a single finger tracing the cleft, down, down, down until it wedged against her puckered hole.

“Establishing our rightful place in the galaxy.”

“By doing what?” Hux challenged.

A cough stifled the moan begging to escape Mara’s throat, toes curling in the tips of her boots. Why was this happening? Was _he_ doing it? Her dilated stare flashed to Ren who met her gaze, eyes sparkling with dark lust before flitting over to Hux.

“By taking Coruscant,” he answered.

“Are you mad?!” Hux bellowed, eyes widening in genuine bewilderment. “We haven’t the resources for an invasion!”

A second gloved hand joined the first, spreading her cheeks, thumbs massaging the delicate skin. They felt as real as the leather chair she squirmed against as ghost hands cupped her ass, helping her slide up and down on the General’s thrumming erection.

“Since when have you, the most clever General of the First Order, ever had a problem acquiring resources?” Ren taunted, an amused look spreading his dark features.

“Since we had the Supremacy blown to pieces, personnel losses on Starkiller and resources depleted from chasing that scum across the galaxy. An invasion of Coruscant is too dangerous. We need to raise capital to fortify the fleet.”

The Mara in her mind groaned, muscles clenching around the turgid flesh as Hux slowly plunged inside until completely sheathed, filling her aching passage, quivering in delight at his fullness. A naked torso joined the hands behind her, rigid abs buffering her spine. A meaty bicep reached up, cradling her neck and bowing her back to afford Hux a better view. His eyes turned black, mouth slack at the sight of her breasts on display for him as he milked her tight folds.

“Then invade whatever backwater planet that has what we need.”

Mara squeezed her hands under the table, hard enough to hurt in a desperate distraction from the slick soaking her panties. 

“This isn’t a military matter,” Hux scoffed. “This is about the terms of our financing agreement with the InterGalactic Banking Clan.”

“Then threaten them and seize it all,” Ren replied so casually.

With chest heaving and pulse racing, Mara finally looked up at Hux. It proved a terrible mistake. The real General grew florid, brows furrowed in rage, but in her aroused state he resembled the General of her fantasies. Mouth hanging open in bliss, watching her from below as he fucked into her. 

Her thighs rubbed together in a bid for relief. It was inferior to her fingers, but it at least created a brief friction against her own throbbing clit. The invisible embrace squeezed tighter and she fought the urge to gasp. With head cushioned against a sculpted peck, she sunk down, buttocks grazing the flesh she had only felt through fabric before. Her neck craned, peering into the face above her, dark hair brushing her nose as Kylo Ren looked down on her. _Touch yourself,_ he whispered.

_No!_

Her eyes blew wide, staring down the Knight who all but ignored her completely across the conference table.

_You want to touch yourself._

_No! No! No!_ She panicked, lips mouthing the words flashing through her mind.

“Threats are meaningless for whom money is no object.” Hux’s voice rose an octave, growing irritated with Kylo’s elementary logic. 

“They can’t buy their lives.”

Ren’s enormous cock twitched hotly against the cleft of her ass. His gloved finger swirled her dripping cunt, gathering her juices on the tip and swiping it up to her tight hole. With every nerve ending on fire, Mara shook with anticipation as he pushed a leather finger inside the pink ring of tissue.

“Only the next best thing,” Hux rejoined.

“Which is...?” Ren spat, mirroring Hux’s earlier words.

 _Go on._ That voice, so smooth and smug egged her on. And despite her utter humiliation, her right hand moved toward the band of her uniform without permission.

 _NO_ — _STOP! What if he sees?_ Her mind screamed. She couldn’t do this. And yet she couldn’t disobey. Why couldn’t she stop? It was as if her body was not her own.

Mara panicked, eyes flashing at Ren, a pathetic grimace sweeping her features and he only spared her a brief, suggestive glance. _The Force._ Ren used the Force to make her body betray herself. With it, he could make her do whatever he wanted and she was completely helpless against him. 

“An army,” Hux supplied boldly. “One they will raise immediately if we openly threaten them.”

“They can try.”

“They will do more than try,” The General’s voice lowered, leveling with Ren. It was dangerous to speak so openly to one who could snap him in two if so desired, but Hux would be damned if he backed down now. “And even a weak threat will further exhaust current resources. As Supreme Leader, you would do well to remember that not everything is achieved through might alone.”

Ren raised an eyebrow at the General’s daring as if subtly impressed.

_Show your General what you want._

_Please stop!_ Mara shrieked anxiously, a small whimper escaping her, undetected for all their arguing as her fingers dipped slowly into her panties. The smooth, slick nub between her legs felt hot against her cold fingertips. She tried to be discreet, knuckles moving only slightly so as not to catch Hux’s eye. 

“It worked well with Tah'Nuhna,” Ren retorted.

The General breathed through his nose, aggravated as gloved fingers squeaked in a curled fist. “Tah’Nuhna is a midrim ice shard populated by vermin. IGBC is vast, influential, and will bleed us dry if we don’t form a strategic—and more importantly— _amiable_ alliance with them.”

Mara was so wet, fingers coated in her own fluids as her face burned with desire. Between circling her own clit and the projected sensation of Ren’s cock pressing against her tight entrance, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

“I won’t bow to some old cadre of bankers,” Ren brooded almost petulantly. 

“Until we establish more control, we need to tread carefully,” Hux cautioned. “And as for Coruscant, we can’t just waltz in and not expect blowback.”

_Faster._

Mara’s fingers obeyed, vibrating against her flushed lips, imagining them both rutting against her. Her eyes fell closed for a moment and she could see them sawing into her, bodies clenching around her limp limbs falling between them.

“Peace is not the objective,” Ren corrected. “We have enough force to suppress any uprisings.”

“I don’t mean the general populace, Re— _Supreme Leader,”_ Hux leaned in, finger tapping on the table top. “I mean the people who have power in the capitol. Bureaucrats, dignitaries, industrialists, even the criminal underground could pose a problem. Coruscant is a complicated ecosystem. It’s nothing like the backwater outposts we’ve taken over in the past. We need to shore up support before we ever set foot there.”

Mara could hear her own breathing now and it was a miracle that Hux hadn’t noticed yet as she writhed under his nose, the knot in her core beginning to build.

“And what do you suggest, General?” The question sounded genuine or at the very least it stemmed from a desire to stop Hux from arguing.

“Appeal to them,” Hux replied, eyes flicking to Ren in a kind of reprimand. “We need to ensure they’ll support a takeover. We need to pay them visits—personally. Let them know what we’re willing to concede for that support.”

“Why waste time when we can just _make_ them support it?”

Hux was suddenly grateful for all those years honing thought suppression under Snoke.

“Because we _can’t_ make them and if we attempt an invasion and fail, we risk exposure. The whole galaxy will take note of our vulnerability. Coruscant is a gamble. One we can’t afford to lose.”

 _Come,_ Ren commanded telepathically, voice only for Mara. Her fingers quickened, middle and forefinger plunging into her dripping hole, the fear of discovery far from her mind as she hastened to obey. She was close, _so_ close to coming silently until a gloved hand snatched her wrist in a crushing grip, stilling it beneath the table. Her eyes burst open as General Hux squeezed tighter. A squeak escaped her clenched teeth, scared her bones might snap beneath his fingers.

Ren ignored the odd exchange, mouth pulling into a piquant smirk as he pushed back his chair to stand. “Then do what you do best, General,” he teased, walking toward the door. “ _Talk_ them into submission.”

The door closed, sending a tremor through Mara, face flushed as General Hux whipped around, gaze skewering her as it slid down to her crotch. She froze, head twitching in denial as he ripped her hand from between skin and skirt. The evidence of her misdeeds shimmered on her fingertips, leaving no doubt as to what she had done.

“Does it amuse you...?” he asked silkily, pulling her hand toward him until the rest of her body followed, out of her chair and into his lap. Her feet no longer touched the ground as he positioned her to straddle his waist, her arms draping his shoulders to maintain balance. Her heart fluttered at the heat of his neck pressing against her forearms, bare skin grazing his trousers, suppressing a desperate need to rub against the hardness pressing at the crook of her thighs. 

“...to tease me like this?” He leaned in, whispering gruffly, lips caressing her ear, cologne filling her face. She let out a needy whine, rubbing against the crease in his trousers in a bid for release.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, voice threaded through clenched teeth.

“No sir!” She cried, the relief found in frictional heat slipped a shaky sigh from her lips. It only took a few strokes against her tender bundle of nerves to unfurl the knot Ren wound tightly within her.

“Do you think you deserve to come?”

To her surprise, the General permitted her grinding against him, hands guiding flushed folds to the place that quickened his pulse. She squirmed in his lap, desperately seeking the relief that only teased them through too many layers of clothing.

“Yes,” she sighed, hot breath blowing against his ear. “Please, sir,” she added, blinded by a consuming lust that could think of nothing else.

His fingertips dug into her pelvis in a stinging response, forcing her to a slow, agonizing pace, each stroke prolonging the ripple of pleasure coursing through her nether lips as they crested the tip where precum seeped through, adding to the gooey mess between her legs.

He cleared his throat and the roughness disappeared. “I’m not convinced,” he finally spoke as if it served to clear his mind as well and he held her still, stopping her from moving an inch more despite her disappointed whimper.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” he sneered dismissively, hands rising to her rib cage and lifting her onto the conference table. “I’ll take care of you,” he purred, eyes glowing with hunger as he towered over her, cool leather fingers gliding against the skin bared to him where her skirt rode up her thighs, the black triangle of her soaked panties peeking out from the bunched fabric. 

His fingers blazed twin trails up to the hem of her skirt, pushing it up to her waist and pulling the sopping scrap from between her legs. The fabric was cold and damp as it grazed her inner thighs, smearing a trail of clear desire down past her knees and over her boots. Instead of letting them drop to the floor, she saw them disappear into his trouser pocket. Her brows furrowed at that but didn’t dare protest.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered in a shallow breath, pushing her back until her shoulder blades met the table top. Her instinct was to disobey, too humiliated to show him exactly how he affected her. But that unforgiving gaze, severe and sensual, left her no choice, so she parted her legs until the slick envelope between her thighs opened, stretching the engorged flesh, glossy pink and throbbing under his eye.

“Now show your General what you need.” 

Mara reclined on one elbow as General Hux grabbed her wrist, dragging it down between her thighs. She started slowly, embarrassed and ducking his gaze as her finger swiped down to gather the juices dripping from her cunt and spreading it over the puffy hood of her clit.

Mara closed her eyes, mind returning to the images Ren imprinted on her, but a grunt snapped her gaze to the General who now stood between her legs, fondling himself through his clothes while the other hand squeezed her thigh hard enough to leave a battery of bruises. It made her core gush, a sharp gasp filling her lungs as she watched his fingers work the zipper of his pants. 

The slip of skin tumbled out, sliding through his dexterous fingers, knuckles catching the head in one motion. He was erect, organ heavy with blood as it bobbed accusatorily in one hand. She couldn’t peel her eyes away from him. Her pristine superior, looking so thoroughly debauched, heaving over her, fiery locks falling over his eyes as he slowly pumped his cock between slick, leathered fingers. 

His body lowered over her, hand bracing the tabletop as his breath billowed against her neck, urging her on as his heated tip skimmed her slit. She let out a cry, cunt clenching painfully. The touch sent her hips bucking, wanting more than a teasing brush to quell an insatiable need to ride him to orgasm.

“No!” he snarled, free hand forcing her hips flat, ignoring her wanton keening as he stroked himself faster, head tapping her clit in a frenzied staccato. _“You haven’t earned it yet.”_

 _Yet._ The word snagged on her subconscious. Her fingers rubbed the fleshy hood, now plump with her own rushing blood, fluster forgotten as her breathing rose to desperate moans. 

“Quiet,” he barked, hand retrieving her panties and stuffing them in her open mouth. The fabric, wet with their combined juices, filled her palette with a tangy taste. Mara groaned around them, the tightness in her cunt unraveling in delight, body seizing beneath him. He gave a few harsh jerks and raised back to watch the pearly ropes coat her fingers still swirling around her clit in ecstasy. His eyes were glassy, ripe with a dark desire that made her scream around the cotton, coming until her cries died into whimpers, digits milking the last of her orgasmic high. Her chest heaved, desperate breaths escaping her nose for the fabric blocking her windpipe. 

General Hux tucked himself away, eyes softening as his fingers reached up to her temples, carding the sweaty wisps of hair clinging to her forehead. He trailed them down to her lips where two fingers pinched the panties wedged between her teeth, retrieving and pocketing them.

“Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice,” he said, smoothing down his uniform once more and retrieving his datapad from beside her. “Our Supreme Leader is impatient,” he added evenly before leaving the conference room as unceremoniously as Ren had before him. 

Mara laid still on the conference table, hands pulling her skirt back down over her thighs. She made to stand, suddenly scared someone may come in and catch her unaware. Sliding off the table, she winced as her feet touched the ground, knees wobbly as a glob of cum rolled down her slit, trailing the inside of her leg until it disappeared in the cuff of her boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah--late again. Hopefully it was worth it? I'll let you decide. ;) See you next time where we'll join the General and Mara on some new and interesting adventures.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara has 'homework.' The General issues a challenge but walks away frustrated.

XII.

‘A moment’s notice’ felt less like a matter of minutes or hours and more like days or weeks as time seemed to stretch on into an endless cycle of worry and self-loathing for Mara Tallion. It was only briefly interrupted by an invitation from Le Hivre suggesting they meet on another one of the _Steadfast’s_ observation decks. They were informed the _Finalizer_ required several more weeks of repairs and much longer for the _Supremacy._ Until then, they were stuck on Pryde’s flagship. So it was there that she relayed everything gleaned from Supreme Leader Ren and General Hux’s last heated exchange. All of the appropriate parts anyway.

Le Hivre was surprised to hear Coruscant being tossed around as an invasion target for all the same reasons Hux cited. That wire had yet to cross SB even, meaning this was the first time _anyone_ was hearing of it. Since then, she had not seen Ren or Hux in several cycles, though she felt the latter’s presence from afar. The morning prior General Hux sent a message to Mara’s datapad. No memo accompanied it. Just two words: _For research._ Attached was a list of names with designations in parentheses.

“What were the names?” asked Le Hivre, the red glow of another SB backroom lighting his face. He seemed less on edge than the last time they stood cramped in one of these closets.

“I didn’t recognize any of them,” Mara admitted, eyes darting once again to the torture chamber below. _Of all the places to be deemed ‘safe,’_ she thought. “One was a Councilor from IGBC, the Zeltronian royal family...I’m guessing it’s related to this Coruscant campaign.”

“Copy that list to a data card,” directed Le Hivre. “We’ll send it to the Resistance…” His words trailed off, leaving an emptiness in her chest. “... _whenever_ we hear from them again.”

Le Hivre confirmed that a small remnant of the Resistance escaped from Crait. That explained the General’s allusion to “smoke signals.” They weren’t snuffed out completely as Hux admitted, but their status was dire. And the worst of it was the inactivity of Resistance intel receivers. Even if they had something, like the Coruscant invasion, there was no way to send it until they reactivated. 

“They’ll come back online,” Le Hivre assured her though Mara wondered how common these interruptions really were. “Once they’ve found a safe place to lay low. We just have to be patient in the meantime. And it wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid your profile is too high right now,” he warned, his reflection also facing the one-way mirror, thoughtfully staring into the chamber below.

Mara cringed. If only he knew _how_ high it was. Her evolving relationship—or whatever it was—she had with General Hux could either open doors before her or under her feet. But it was impossible to know which one.

“You need to cool down.”

“How do I do _that_?"

Like Supreme Leader Ren, patience was not Mara’s strong suit, leaving her to expend useless energy on incessant fret. Le Hivre laughed at that, reminding her that most surveillance was tedious mundanity rather than exciting spycraft. He suggested assimilating herself more with the Order. It would help in domestic intel gathering, and most importantly, help her take up a routine. 

“It’ll keep you sane and pass the time,” Le Hivre added.

It was odd to think of life behind enemy lines as “passing the time,” but Le Hivre had lived like this for a decade, so she tried his advice, beginning each day with an appointment at the officers’ training facilities. Since she only worked with the General, Mara knew virtually no one and so her sessions went uninterrupted, channeling all of her mental energy on one more sit up, one more repetition, one more kilometer. 

Despite the variety of equipment, she spent more time logging miles on the gravtrak than anything else. The repetition of her feet, endlessly pounding the moving slats provided a mindless place to take solace. The sound of her own breath, in and out, breezing through her lungs, leaving her lips, kept her focused. It was something she could control. And that was comforting in a world wrought of uncertainty.

She also took up regular visits to the mess hall even though she preferred eating ration bars in her room. But this was not about her comfort, Le Hivre reminded her. It was time to make the best of her situation and see what she could overhear in common areas. Perhaps other officers in the company of friends would casually talk shop. 

Most commonly, this was where she habitually ran into one Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka. After several instances of him awkwardly catching her across the room, she gave up trying to avoid him. Not that she could if she even wanted to. He had a spectacular knack for finding her regardless and for all his personality, it distinctly lacked perception.

If Mitaka had suspected anything odd about her relationship to Le Hivre, he didn’t act like it. Perhaps he still suspected they were romantically involved and preferred avoiding it altogether. Whatever it was, an abundance of naivety or lack of nerve, Mara was grateful.

Some days they didn’t talk at all, just sat together in silence, checking their datapads and sipping caf. Mara spent the last few days researching Hux’s list while Mitaka answered his correspondence. He wasn’t bad company, if Mara was being honest. Boundlessly thoughtful and at times painfully polite, she couldn’t help but think if circumstances were different they might be friends. He also proved a particularly useful historian of the Empire, a surprising benefit for her research notes.

“I can’t find anything on this guy,” Mara shrugged, anxiously typing away on her datapad. 

“Who?” Mitaka piped up, eyes flicking over the edge of his own tablet.

“Ral Drisla from the InterGalactic Banking Clan—that name ring any bells?”

“IGBC?” His dark eyebrows raised in recognition. “Good luck finding _anything_ on them. Though it does sound vaguely familiar…” He took a sip of caf in thought. “Might be ex-Imperial. I’ve heard most of them are.”

“Why wouldn’t I find anything?” she pressed.

“They’re just ultra secretive,” he replied before biting into a piece of toast. “And for good reason. They’re the wealthiest people in the galaxy.”

“From banking?”

“From war profiteering,” he corrected. Mara caught the tail end of Mitaka’s answer, tinged in disgust, and when she looked up, his mouth flattened into a disgruntled line.

“You have an opinion?” She challenged, voice hitching in interest. Mitaka only recoiled, chewing his toast for too long as if he revealed too much.

“I shouldn’t,” he swallowed.

“But you _do.”_ Her gaze sharpened, taking him in now as if his subtle dissension transformed him before her eyes. “So what is it?”

“It’s just…” Mitaka ducked his head, licking the seam of his lips and looked around, almost conspiratorially. “It doesn’t seem right,” he relented. “Making money off misfortune.”

Taking a breath, Mara bit back the response knocking at the door of her lips. Didn’t he realize the First Order fueled the whole machine? 

“Where are you from?” she asked suddenly and he paused as if it caught him off guard. When he finally answered, his lips were hesitant, muttering a name she barely made out in the mess hall clatter.

“Ord Mantell.”

 _So that was it._ The Lieutenant was just a boy from a war-torn planet himself. Ord Mantell, center of the Bright Jewel sector, remained under a string of occupations from Separatists to Syndicates and then the Empire and the Order after that. Its industrial cities were built up and torn down and taken over by a cruel Maker who eternally crushed them under this calamitous wheel. Mara could see clearly what the First Order offered a boy who knew what greed and violence galvanized first hand.

“How did you get here?” she asked, curious to know how a denizen of one dusty dirtball ended up as the adjutant to General Hux.

“My father worked at an Imperial deepdock. That was when I saw my first Star Destroyer—an _Imperial II-_ class. The _Harbinger._ ” His eyes glittered with wonder and Mara felt as if she was seeing him in his own memory. An Imperial progeny, no doubt, he was little more than a miniature version of the adult Mitaka, severely combed part and mini-uniform to match.

“He was an officer?”

“No,” he murmured. “Just a dockhand.”

Mara stilled, realizing how wrong she was, his shame only registering a moment later.

“I’m not judging you,” she blurted, attuned to his pain, knowing, even subtly, how General Hux and Le Hivre invoked a certain tone at her own background. _‘Farm girl,’_ they called her. Well this ‘farm girl’ was infiltrating the First Order from the inside, so who underestimated who? 

“I’m just a farm girl myself,” she replied, the words suddenly filling her with smug pride. Just a farm girl, indeed.

“I know you wouldn’t judge,” Mitaka gave a sheepish smile and despite herself, Mara returned it. 

Manipulating a target without being manipulated was a fine line, she found. But this was a small routine she could permit. Mitaka was, afterall, the only other person in the whole Order who understood what it was to work intimately with General Hux. Well, maybe not _as_ intimately. 

_Did Hux…?_ Her gaze slid to Mitaka, perfectly combed hair, a blank expression returning as he flicked the datapad before him. A perfect mirror of his superior. It frightened her how quickly she imagined them together. Mitaka seemed the eager type, wide brown eyes drinking in his superior as he enthusiastically sucks— _No._ She swallowed uncomfortably, trying to wipe the image from her mind. Hux didn’t strike her as one to appreciate sycophancy in sex. Definitely not. 

Mara downed the rest of her caf in one gulp, the heat scorching any further ideas and gave a quick wave to the Lieutenant before taking off. She clearly needed something else to pour out her focus and the firing range was next on her new routine.

The Resistance taught her basic firearm handling, but she was a ground controller and a famously bad shot at that. If GCs were expected to shoot anyone, then the Resistance was in real trouble. Regardless, now was as good a time as any to improve that, so Mara picked up an SE-44 pistol and took up a booth on the far end of the firing range. Like all aspects of the First Order, their facilities were lightyears ahead of the Resistance. The booth was fully enclosed on two sides, allowing her to see nothing but the lanes in front of her through an open window. Beneath it hung a shelf where she placed her datapad and picked up the supplied visor that, once engaged, projected a countdown for each round, blaster trajectories and accuracy grades for every target in a heads up display.

Pulling the visor down, Mara raised her pistol and squared her shoulders, awaiting the countdown to flash before her vision.

 _3\. 2._ _1._

A target flared to the top right, disappearing and popping to the left. Pivoting, she aimed in each direction, unloading a volley of shots. 

“Fuck!” she muttered under her breath, frowning at the blaster holes ringing each bullseye. Twenty-five percent would have been generous. The visor flashed a mocking fifteen. She grumbled and reloaded the pistol. As she reached for the reset, a round of fire whizzed rapidly from the adjacent booth and she paused, marveling at each bolt finding its bullseye as if magnetically charged. In a jealous streak, Mara furrowed her gaze, repositioning herself for another round.

_3\. 2. 1._

If her neighbor inspired her to try harder, it did nothing to improve her accuracy. The round was over in an instant, visor flashing a giant twelve percent and she audibly shrugged.

“Fortunately personal protection isn’t in your job description,” came a waggish voice Mara recognized all too well. General Hux slipped in beside her, leaning against the inside wall of her booth. Her neighbor had gone suspiciously quiet and she knew instantly the two were one in the same.

 _Fortunate for us both,_ she wanted to reply but settled for something less impertinent before pressing the reset button. 

“I’m trying my best, sir.”

“Your _best_ would have us dead,” he scoffed, moving from the wall, hands flying to her hips. She froze. His fingers sent heat rushing to her limbs, skin remembering the last time he touched her like this; when he hiked her skirt up and hauled her onto a conference table. Her cheeks burned at the memory and she was grateful to be facing away from him.

“Fix your stance,” he barked, one leg threading through her own to nudge her left foot forward. The movement pulled their bodies flush and her heart pounded at the warmth of him against her. She fought the instinct to grind into him, embarrassed that it even crossed her mind, however fleetingly.

“Eyes and arms up,” he clipped, right hand tapping her chin while his left straightened her arm. His gloved fingers wrapped her own, forming a proper grip. “Press, never pull the trigger.”

“And most importantly,” his voice dropped, breath caressing her ear. “Focus on the sight, not the target.”

Her body trembled at his limbs entwined with her’s. He pressed the reset button on her visor. The ticking numbers barely registered beneath her aroused fugue. She thought his own breath hitched at her body shifting beneath his, backside grazing his front. Her pulse quickened at the targets’ appearance. Hux swiveled her torso, directing her arms where they should go. She peered down the sight, the bullseye set dead center and fired. Direct hit. A smile spread her face as she pivoted again, missing the next target by a few millimeters. 

“Don’t get distracted,” he hissed, lining her up for the last target. She didn’t miss this time, blaster fire catching the outer rim. It disappeared and the round ended, her visor flashing an improved thirty-five percent.

“Better,” Hux growled, fingers wounding her ponytail, wrenching it until her head snapped back. At this angle she saw the way his cold, gleaming eyes raked over her, the severity in them tightening her core almost painfully. “Now let’s see you under duress.”

 _Duress?_ Before Mara could ponder it more, the General drew her against him, arm constricting her neck. The folds of his sleeve pressed her wind pipe, forcing a surprised gasp. She panicked, struggling to free herself, filling the booth with her desperate pants. His body grew rigid in more ways than one and she finally sunk against him, chest rising and falling with labored breaths until his grip loosened.

“Now take up the gun,” he whispered darkly, arm cradling her neck in the crook of his elbow, “and try again.” 

Mara raised the pistol eye level, so rattled her hands could hardly curb their shaking. The General’s free hand helped little, straying the length of her torso before dipping into her waistband. “You’re not focused,” he taunted, leathered fingers sliding across her bare skin until they found her slickened bud. She inhaled sharply at the contact. It throbbed from his feathery touch, fingertips teasing her inner lips with the barest hint of smooth leather. A tiny groan escaped her, angling herself toward them, silently pleading for those cruel fingers to end her misery. He pulled back instead, tracing the outside folds in a maddeningly slow pace and Mara bit her lip to keep from whimpering. How could she focus with him touching her like _that?_

She moaned loudly, squeezing the trigger and missing the target completely. Hux hardly noticed, battling his own increasingly uneven breaths as he held her captive, body coiled around her, fingers pulling apart her arousal. His hand cupped her mound, digits working her tender flesh in small, circular strides. Her eyes closed blissfully, swallowing hotly and discarding the pistol as she melted against him, one hand holding the booth’s frame and the other grasping the arm around her neck.

Hux was not impassive to her wanton writhing either. The hot, sturdy ridge pressing fully into her backside confirmed that. It twitched appreciatively and she rutted in response, desperate to feel his erection, even through their many layers, as his fingers pressed in all the right places. It wasn’t long before the familiar mounting pleasure pulled at her lower abdomen, heating her entire body. She could feel it, ready to unspool at the fingers plunging into her tight hole, the glove seams stroking her inner walls, leaving her in breathless ecstasy.

A loud beeping sound jolted them as if it shot electricity through their limbs. It took a moment for Mara to realize it came from the General’s wristcomm as he pulled his torturous hand from between her legs, fingers withdrawing wet. She caught a whiff of her own arousal as he brought it up to look and it made her all the more desperate to orgasm. An irritable growl escaped him and Mara instantly knew who was on the other end. Only one person could command General Hux. 

As the erotic haze cleared, a sudden wave of horror washed over her. She frantically swiveled around, looking for the cameras she knew silently recorded every inch of this ship. Her entire body went cold and hot at the same time, imagining some nameless, faceless SB officer watching them at that very moment.

“Hux,” she spoke his surname without thinking. “The cameras…” 

Mara flinched. Not only at her mistake, but the way it sounded to her own ears, so obviously hoarse with unchecked arousal.

“They will be erased,” he replied breathily, ignoring her transgression and smoothing his appearance once more. If not for the flush mottling his otherwise pale face, he would be fully transformed back into the placid General who struck fear into anyone who dared meet his gaze. Something about the way he looked now, so completely in control again, made her wish he had taken her right then and there.

“I hope you’ve done your homework,” he clipped, voice erasing her thoughts completely. “We leave for Scipio tomorrow per the Supreme Leader’s orders.”

“Drisla?” she asked, knowing that Scipio was the headquarters of IGBC.

“Yes,” he confirmed, an annoyed lilt in his voice as he gathered his great coat. “Be ready for a sixteen hundred departure. Sharp,” he added, leaving Mara to stand in a booth where he left her sexually frustrated.

**. . .**

  
The General arrived at his own quarters in a state. His erection flagged between his legs, but faded was hardly the same as sated. Hux cursed his own tendencies. _You just had to drag things out, didn’t you?_ He should have fucked her fully rather than playing with his food. At least if he had, he wouldn’t feel so wound up, especially now, right before a major initiative thanks to Kylo-fucking-Ren.

The General hung up his great coat, making sure it hung properly so as not to leave unwanted creases before closing the door to his bedroom. He ordered the lights to ten percent and opened a glossy armoire that stood in the far corner of the room. Dropping his gloves inside, he sifted through the top drawer bare-handed until his fingers caught the silky scrap of cloth. The feeling of those delicate panties gliding through his knuckles hardened him instantly, the evidence of his arousal now straining against his pant leg. 

Hux held them up. _Maker,_ he could smell her. The heady scent imprinted on his memory. It was not the same as having her in the flesh, but it would do for now, he thought, unclasping the hidden hooks of his jacket and draping it on a chair before discarding the rest of his uniform. Hux licked the palm of his hand, slicking his pulsing shaft in spit as he threaded the elastic around it, wincing and reveling in the way it squeezed him. 

His earlier tryst had brought him much closer than he realized and with only a few quick pumps, the tip leaked pre-cum, soaking the fabric where it stretched over his sensitive head, spreading the tiny slit and sending a pleasurable trill at the rough mesh rubbing against it on each downstroke. He pumped faster, the tight elastic trapping blood in his cock, making him impossibly hard. Hux savored the way he felt, hot and ready to burst from the last few strokes as he imagined her blushed cheeks and shining lips.

He would have her soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had planned to begin the next mission on this chapter but other ideas just got in the way, so we'll pick up on Scipio next time and meet the infamous Councilor Drisla. I'll be honest, it's shaping up to be a juicy one. 
> 
> I've much appreciated all of the comments, kudos, subscribes and bookmarks! You all make writing so much fun. See you next week!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara and the General travel to Scipio to meet the mysterious Councilor Ral Drisla. Hux is there on business but Drisla has other plans.

XIII.

Mara was mid-“regularly-scheduled exercise” when Mitaka came in over her wristcomm, breathlessly requesting she report to docking bay 177. Immediate departure. She checked her chrono curiously. Had she misheard the General? Sixteen hundred wasn’t for another two hours.

Fearing Hux’s retribution, Mara shrugged, bounding off the gravtrak and dashed down the hall to her own bunk, snatching her garment bag from the hook. Which was worse? Tardiness or violating uniform protocol? Both were high on Hux’s shortlist, but she had made only one of these mistakes already. Time was ticking. Protocol violation it was, she decided, leaving her room in compression shorts and matching top with uniform in hand.

Clamoring down the gangway to the hangar below, she spied the General’s fiery head marching toward the command shuttle on-ramp. Per First Order convention, a retinue of Stormtroopers flanked him on each side, sending him off with all the ceremony his position afforded. Hux had barely entered the formation when Mara came dashing in behind him, her unusual dress no doubt sending a flurry of confused looks beneath those betaplast helmets. Mara just prayed he didn’t catch sight of her before she could dart inside and re-dress.

She was almost home free, edging toward the back compartment when the General whirled around, his officer’s greatcoat slapping her legs, stopping mid stride. She froze, eyebrows raised in abject horror as he took in the state of her dress, gaze unforgivably stern.

“What. Is. That?” He tutted each word and pointed to her offending compression shorts.

“I have my uniform, sir!” Mara hastily protested, throwing up the garment bag as if to shield herself. “I thought departure was at sixteen hundred.”

“It _was_ at sixteen hundred, but there was a change,” Hux said, tone bordering on full-blown irritation, making Mara wonder if Ren was somehow involved. “I _told_ you to be ready.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She lowered her gaze, knowing how much he detested her apologies. “I just left PT and didn’t want to be late. I can change in two seconds,” she offered, feeling the pressure shift as the shuttle embarked.

His ice-blue stare scanned her again, the fire dying in them as if he decided a rebuke wasn’t worth the effort. “Don’t bother.” He shrugged, taking his command chair and leaving Mara equally baffled and terrified at his sudden indifference. Just how close was the nearest airlock anyway?

“Sir?”

“You won’t be needing it,” he dismissed, pulling out his datapad, which undoubtedly held more pressing matters than his subordinate’s state of dress. “This initiative requires a different role,” he added cryptically.

“Out of uniform?”

“In disguise,” he replied, casually flicking through communiqués as his gaze remained on the black mirror, “as my Favourite.”

Mara paused, the word echoing around in her head. Favourite _what?_

In all her research on Scipio and IGBC, she hadn’t come across this term or title, whichever it was. How could she have missed it? She desperately wished to know what it meant, but didn’t dare ask. Hux seemed to be in a particularly sour mood judging by the scowl glued to his lips and she knew it best to keep questions to a minimum. Instead, she took her own seat, relieved he wasn’t taking it out on her, for now. 

Mara flipped on her own datapad, reviewing her notes, but now wondered what to expect from this meeting. She stole a glance at her superior. He looked tired. Like the kind of tired fueled by a steady stream of pills to sleep and stims to stay awake, if he slept at all.

Mara tried searching for the answer on her own datapad, but nothing helpful came up. Another half hour of complete silence passed and almost compulsively, Mara piped up.

“I’m not very familiar with that term— _Favourite,_ ” she tried to sound casual, though her tone was anything but.

His eyes flashed with clear interest. “I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

There was something about it. Something about the smugness in his response that made her intensely uncomfortable.

“Are Favourites common on Scipio?” Her mouth suddenly felt dry, words whistling on her tongue.

“They are with the company we’re keeping.”

“And how should I proceed...as your ‘Favourite’?”

Setting his datapad aside, the General’s eyes met her’s from across the cabin in a deadly serious stare. “You do not speak unless spoken to. You will wear the garments appropriate to your station, and you will follow my lead to the letter. I expect nothing—and I mean _nothing_ —short of absolute obedience from you at all times. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she confirmed, blinking owlishly at his list of expectations.

“Your wardrobe is in my compartment. I expect you dressed and ready for disembarkment in less than ten minutes.”

Mara scrambled out of her captain’s chair, mouth dried as the compartment door slid open. _That_ room. Her eyes wandered to the bed, gut twisting in phantom excitement and revulsion, conflicted feelings flooding the memory of her punishment.

With gaze averted, she looked instead to the hanging folds of lilac shimmersilk clinging to the refresher door. Was _this_ what the General meant? The garments “appropriate to her station”? The fabric slid between her fingertips as she held a pleat to the light, grimacing at how much shown through.

She suddenly batted the dress away as if burned by it. This wasn’t for her. It couldn’t be. It more closely resembled a Coruscanti negligee than a garment fit for any official business. And as a representative of the First Order, no less. It was everything the organization was not: luxurious, free-flowing and feminine. Surely wearing it would convey a message Mara didn’t fully understand.

Her face drained at the very idea. The thought of donning such a gauzy frock in front of anyone filled her with dread and yet the thought of it belonging to anyone else was a thread she dared not pull.

Mara searched her surroundings. There was nothing else to pass as garments save the gown and her pulse quickened. Surely it was a mistake.

With a deep breath, she stripped off the compression shorts and top and hiked the delicate fabric over her head until it tumbled down her body, clinging loosely to her curves. She adjusted the gold plate beneath her collarbone where the silk draped in a deep V, exposing her sternum and the valley of her breasts. A chill ran up her bare back as she examined her appearance over her shoulder. The silk’s translucence rendered nearly opaque across her breasts and the apex of her thighs with strategically draped folds, but every other lack of stitching left little to the imagination.

Despite her fears, a small part of her preened, running her fingers through the skirts, marveling at how delicate it was. She had certainly never owned a garment as fine as this. All of her clothes were threadbare and homespun or uniforms serving a purely utilitarian purpose. But this gown was so elegant that it seemed to elevate her humble form and maybe in a different time and place she would have felt beautiful even.

“Five minutes, Tallion,” came the voice of General Hux just outside the compartment.

“I’m...I’m coming, sir.” She replied in a strained voice, hand slowly reaching for the door’s release. Maker, what if she was wrong? What if this _wasn’t_ for her? Thinking of the General’s reaction brought a flush to her cheeks and neck. Her palms sweat just imagining the horrific scenario.

Mara took another deep breath, pressed the release and immediately shot her gaze to the floor, saving herself the embarrassment of whatever reaction played across his face. He refused to step aside and instead reached out, gloved fingers sliding under her chin, tipping it upward. She denied his gaze still.

“I have something for you.” He reached in an inner pocket, a glittering chain threaded through his fingers as he withdrew it. “To complete your disguise.”

“What is it?” Her skin tingled as he released her ponytail, sweeping her unbound hair to one side.

“This marks you as mine.”

 _Wait, what?_ Heat bloomed in her chest, quickly spreading to her cheeks until an inner rage consumed her. She was not some prized chattel to be branded.

He reached beneath her hair, cool leather grazing the burning nape of her neck as he clasped it in place. She plucked the dangling jewel from between her breasts, examining it in her open palm. A wave of vertigo washed over her at a study of its design: a ruby cut into the First Order starburst banded in gold. She seethed, chest rising and falling with anxious breath threatening to reveal her visible hatred.

The ship rocked suddenly, throwing her forward. Hux braced the bulkhead, his soldier’s instincts cushioning her small form against him. Her arms sprang forth, catching beneath his greatcoat to steady herself and their gazes finally met in the cramped compartment. His silky uniform grazed her bare arms and her skin suddenly burned all over. When she finally looked up, his eyes glowed with appreciation and pink, plush lips hovered above her own. They shared a breath, eyes locked as her body pulsed in equal excitement and terror. 

“We’ve landed.” He broke away, leaving her standing awkwardly against the bulkhead alone. She took a moment to recompose herself, breath slowing, watching intently as he stood before the lowering shuttle ramp where she soon joined him.

The dry, cold air blew against her naked arms and through the folds of her skirt, prickling her skin. Her nipples hardened against the breeze, rising from the gauzy drapes in two delicate pin pricks, to her horror. She quickly folded her arms, silently resenting Hux for luxuriating in a garber wool coat while she was resigned to a flimsy gown.

They stepped out onto a landing pad atop an ornate balcony hovering among snow-capped mountaintops. With the exception of IGBC’s fortress, Scipio was barren and at the same time felt ominous and forbidden as if something more dangerous hid just behind the jagged peaks puncturing a mottled-gray sky. It looked like the reconnaissance photos she had once seen of Starkiller. She wondered if Hux thought of it too but glimpsed not even the barest hint of recognition on his stony face. 

Her breath swirled in heated plumes as she followed the General through gates leading to an antechamber made for nothing but awe and intimidation. Its arches spanned fifty feet overhead, supported by cascading buttresses of the like she had never seen before.

A humanoid male greeted them. Mara had yet to encounter his species which was surprising after working in a backwater post like Trigalis. He had long, waif-like arms and legs, an elongated grayish head and dark, almond-shaped eyes that she had to crane her neck to see.

“Councilor Drisla awaits.”

One long, winding arm beckoned them forward with spindly, leaden fingers. She tried not to gawk as the alien led them through a hall lined with artifacts ensconced in glass cases. Some of them looked familiar. One helmet, visor cut in a distinctive T-shape, seemed vaguely Mandalorian, but she couldn’t be sure. Unlike Hux, Mara was uncultured and uneducated in ways that their time together only seemed to further underscore. All she ever knew of the galaxy’s history came from the few books available on Brolsam or ones traded in her stall on Trigalis, though most of the latter concerned banned subjects of little use to her here.

As they swept through the hall of artifacts, Mara now caught her own reflection sliding across the display cases. The girl staring back at her was someone she barely recognized. Long, pitch dark hair fell loosely down her back, skirts flowing around her in diaphanous waves while the golden collar glimmered in the spotlights as she moved beneath them.

As they advanced through to a receiving hall, two ornate doors opened to reveal a much cozier space with lower, arched ceilings supported by columns dotting the room. A human man, close to Hux in height, with silvery hair and piercing, pale gray eyes stepped forward to greet them. He wore long robes, trimmed in emerald green, and gave a restrained smile that accented his cleft chin. He was older, but his skin remained smooth and youthful with only his hair to hint at an advancing age. 

Mara knew little about this man but felt Mitaka was dead on. The way he presented himself, with the same practiced orderliness she recognized in Le Hivre and Hux, confirmed he was indeed Ex-Imperial. 

Somehow she sensed Hux knew even more than that but chose to keep her in the dark. But then again, she wasn’t there to serve as interpreter or advisor, _just the General’s arm candy_ , so perhaps it was irrelevant as far as she was concerned. 

“It’s an honor to host the First Order’s star General.” He smiled politely, thin lips tightening in the corners but showing no teeth. “I trust your journey to Scipio proved pleasant.” His glittering eyes fell on Mara now as he approached her.

“And this must be your Favourite—

“Mara,” Hux casually supplied. The sound of her given name on his tongue made her quiver, gloved fingers delicately clasped her elbow as he ushered her toward their host.

Drisla received her, raising her wrist, lips pressed, cold and damp, against her bare knuckles. Despite his refined, tight smile, his eyes appeared empty and sterile like Scipio itself. And though the folds of her gown provided some modesty, she felt naked under his gaze and it took every ounce of self control not to recoil from a shade of dread Mara couldn’t quite name.

“Ah,” he remarked in a low purr that set her teeth on edge, “she was _recently_ acquired?”

 _Acquired?_ Mara tried to clear the glare sweeping her face, gaze skittering away at the last moment.

“How did you know?” Hux’s eyes lit up, as if impressed and his lips tugged at a grin, two expressions Mara was unsure if she had ever witnessed on the General before.

“Eyes,” Drisla tutted self-assuredly, returning to her submissive facade. “Too much eye contact for an experienced girl.”

“Yes, well...” The General sighed, flicking his gaze at her dismissively, “she’s loyal enough, but her _obedience_ leaves much to be desired.” Mara dropped her head in embarrassment, knowing exactly what memory the words recalled for them both.

Drisla chortled, leading them to the prepared dining table, taking his place at one end while Hux assumed the other and between them sat boats of colo claw fish surrounded by Nabooian fritters crowned in Fambaa delight. Despite the table’s finery and excess, Mara couldn’t help but notice the lack of chairs to sit on.

“Patience, dear General. Train her with diligence and she’ll learn what pleases you in due time.” 

Male servants similar to the one who greeted them appeared from somewhere behind the many stone columns, carrying carafes of liquid, colored like sea glass, and proceeded to pour it into each man’s goblet. 

“Perhaps my Lyra can teach her a thing or two.” His graying brows shot up in amusement and raised a glass toward the General who returned the toast. “Though I think you’ll find the journey as satisfying as the destination.”

Mara’s complexion grew florid at the way they spoke of her as if she wasn’t there. She avoided any eye contact, suddenly realizing it, among many things not yet revealed, were expected of her and she was already failing. 

“Lyra,” Drisla’s white-gloved hands clapped quietly and a side door opened to reveal a young woman no older than Mara. She had long, white-blonde hair spiraling down to elegant shoulders that lay tapered in seafoam fabric. The neckline of her gown dipped to her waist, exposing a pale stripe of skin accented by a slinky gold chain that swung between her breasts as she walked.

She did not serve the guests, but instead lowered herself neatly onto a cushion at his feet, heels folded beneath her buttocks, hands clasped together, eyes downcast in a perfectly docile facade. A similar cushion sat empty beside Hux’s feet and Mara suddenly realized it awaited her.

An irritated shrug left her lips, disguised by the clatter of cutlery. She mirrored the silent Lyra, folding her legs beneath her, taking her “seat” on the floor and looking every inch the devoted pet of General Hux. At least this _arrangement_ was temporary. Lyra however…

Mara openly surveyed the downcast girl, wondering what sort of life she led. Was she allowed anything of her own? Or was every part of her—hair, clothes, demeanor—all crafted carefully for the sole purpose of pleasing this old nerf? Drisla’s allusions made her stomach roil. What pleasures did he need to train her for?

“As much as I enjoy the present conversation, I’ve crossed the galaxy for more than tips,” Hux replied boldly. He was never much one for small talk anyway.

“Ah yes, I hear the First Order is under new leadership,” said Drisla, tone dripping in smug delight. “And it’s more...liberal with resources.”

“Much to your benefit,” Hux replied off-handedly before sipping from a jeweled goblet.

“Until it _isn’t_ to my benefit,” Drisla challenged. The response felt oddly tense to Mara and she quickly realized just how delicate this relationship might be. She stole a glance up at the General, trying to discern his reaction but instead caught herself admiring his marblesque mien and the way his lips flushed in an aloof pout as he endured whatever droll conversation Drisla attempted.

Without warning, those pale blue eyes dropped to her submissive form. A wave of fear coursed through her. She froze, expecting a reprimand for her poor performance, but his expression was something akin to mild intrigue. Hux’s right hand slithered down from the table and into his lap, innocuously resting there. She followed its curious movement, carefully studying the way his pale wrist bone jutted sharply from black leather and delicately skimmed his pant leg. His left hand soon joined his right, pinching the tips of his glove, fingers sliding out in one smooth movement. Her skin felt aflame despite her thin frock and she swallowed thickly.

Bits and pieces of the conversation flittered between her ears. Something about galactic borrowing rates, most of it lost to the pounding of her heart now rendering their voices distant. His bare hand casually slid to the end of his seat, crossing the space between them and landing softly on the crown of her head. Her neck tingled with tense excitement but she dared not react. A Favourite would welcome touch from her General, or at least remain unfazed by it.

Hux’s deft fingers caressed the shell of her ear, causing her to bite back the shock of pleasure as they tenderly grazed her temple. Her lids slid closed, surrendering to the mesmerizing circles he traced, lulling her into a relaxed state. Deep breaths filled her ears and his digits spread skillfully across her scalp, causing a strangled moan to escape her lips, parted in quiet ecstasy. 

His palm withdrew and a wave of disappointment filled her, only to find it again under her nose, index and middle finger coated in a creamy, congealed substance. Her eyes slowly scaled the length of his arm, finally reaching his face, terrified she misread the invitation. He didn’t flinch, fingers hovering expectantly, answering her silent question. Her lips parted and Hux pushed inside, fingers skimming her teeth before the tips pressed her tongue. She peered up, awaiting his reaction, but he refused, staring down Drisla instead.

The taste was mildly sweet but tangy like custard and her lips sealed around him, suckling his fingers. A spark darted his features, dark eyes sparing a wicked glance. She smiled inwardly, swallowing him deeper, up to his middle knuckle while her tongue laved the naked digits. Hux rewarded her, giving his fingers a few good pumps before slipping free and the ridge pressing his inner thigh served as the result.

“That’s quite the show over there.”

Drisla’s slippery voice cut through her euphoric haze, her lashes fluttering in doe-eyed horror as she now realized the older man had been studying her for some time. She canted up toward Hux who regarded her blushing cheeks with lust-blown eyes narrowed to possessive slits. Her clit pulsed painfully at his expression, raw and all consuming.

Drisla now regarded his own Favourite who, until that moment, remained so still she might have fallen asleep sitting up.

“I rather feel left out.” Drisla’s voice took on a faux whine that Mara found intolerable coming from a grown man. His own hand slid under Lyra’s delicate chin, raising her cherubic face to meet his. He removed his silk-white glove and plunged his index finger into a jar of nectar, syrup trailing the tender path to her waiting mouth. 

“Lyra and I love to play a little game that’s very similar,” said Drisla, dipping the sticky sweetness past her pale lips. One golden drop slid from the corner of her pout, rolling down her chin to rest on her frail clavicle. His finger chased it down, retrieving it before pushing it into her mouth.

Both Hux and Mara stilled, watching the intimate display with subconscious unease.

“Her favorite is honey nectar.” He took another scoop of nectar, this time holding it against her cheek. Her neck swiveled to seek it out, the shimmering liquid smearing across her face as she reached for it. Drisla’s lids dropped and eyes grew heavy as his Favourite sucked them greedily. Mara inched instinctively toward the General’s leg, reveling in the hand that protectively grazed the back of her arm.

Drisla dipped his hand again, twirling the syrup around his fingertips. He watched the golden strands drip onto the table cloth as if transfixed before snapping up suddenly, his eerie gaze settling on the young General.

“Do you want to see _real_ obedience, Armitage?” His tone turned sinister, almost challenging, and the inclusion of Hux’s given name shocked Mara. It was an intimacy unearned, registering no doubt as the slight intended. But if Drisla thought it would rile the General, then he was sorely mistaken. Instead, Hux gave a sly grin, one eyebrow crooking in interest and replied, “Of course, Councilor.”

Drisla wiped his fingers on the table cloth and reached for the clasp of his robes, fingers working to rid himself of it. Mara’s gaze widened with each movement, every muscle tense for the uncertainty of what followed. 

“Strip,” he said, eyes narrowing at Lyra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally planned as a single chapter but it was running so long that it needed to be split up. We leave on a bit of a cliffhanger for part 1, but part 2 is going to be rather risqué, so hold tight and see you next week!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations escalate and the General must resort to extreme measures to get his way.

XIV.

Lyra obeyed flawlessly, without reproach or protestations, only blind obedience as she daintily rose from her cushion, standing tall and statuesque without the barest hint of abashment. Peeling the straps of her dress from her slim shoulders, the gown dropped, billowing to the floor like seafoam smoke. Mara blinked away, gaze ricocheting around the room before falling on Hux. A part of her feared what she might find, though when she dared meet his face, it lacked carnality, as if those bored eyes had seen a hundred naked bodies. And that, perhaps, scared her even more.

“You see, General,” Drisla added hoarsely, unlacing the brocade trousers he wore. “This is how a trained girl behaves.”

When Mara deigned to look again, it was like glimpsing a ghost. Bereft of clothes, Lyra’s skin glowed, almost translucent as it slid over the shoulder blades poking out from her genuflection.

Lyra’s naked body blocked the Councilor’s movements, but Mara could easily guess where his hands went. A free hand swiped the jar once again and Drisla plunged his fingers inside, withdrawing a glob of nectar before diving between his legs. Mara reeled, wondering if her eyes deceived her, gaze fluttering to Hux who remained astonishingly unfazed.

“She’ll do anything to get it. Isn’t that right, my sweet?” He cooed, a predatory gleam sweeping his features as he gazed down on her golden head.

Lyra nodded mechanically, dipping down, presumedly to take his cock without command. Drisla’s eyes fell closed and there could be no mistaking what kind of obedience they were meant to witness. His hand cupped the back of her neck, lewdly bobbing her head and drawing a sharp breath from Mara.

“I think you’ve proved your point,” Hux drawled dismissively, eyes rolling as he sipped from his goblet. 

Drisla chuckled, lightly slapping her rear in a signal to stop, the pale globes jiggling in response. Lyra dutifully pulled back, Mara’s stare trailing her as she returned to her cushion, showing no signs of discomfort. She could now see the necklace his Favourite wore was not a necklace but a fine gold chain attached by two delicate clamps pinching each nipple. Watching the chain rise and fall with each breath, Mara swallowed dryly, her own nipples tightening at the sight of them.

“Perhaps you’d like a turn?” Drisla offered, tucking himself away.

The General’s lips spread in a tight, forced smile. “No,” he replied bluntly and a strange relief washed through Mara. Hux peered down at her now, fingers curling under her chin, tipping her face upward. “I have a better idea.”

Her eyes widened at Hux who plucked his own jar of nectar from the table. Using a dainty spoon to ladle it out, he brought the syrup to her mouth, glossing it over her lips. His hand reached around her neck and with a resounding click, the golden plate unfastened. She inhaled as it fell, her neckline falling with it, gauzy fabric pooling around her and forcing herself not to catch it.

Cool air rushed her naked body and even as it burned with shame, her skin pocked and nipples swelled against it. The heavy gazes of both men fell on her now as Hux dipped the spoon again, this time dripping the golden liquid over each peak. It ribboned out, coating the rosy buds, excess drizzling to her thighs below. He deposited the last of it on her chest where it oozed downward, into the valley of her breasts and tickled her skin as it rolled toward her slit.

Her clit quivered, the sticky residue slicking her inner thighs, failing to calm the deep blush dousing her in fire as it traced her body’s curve. Her gaze darted to the other Favourite, who seemed equally unbothered by the puzzling act. Drisla, however, leaned forward, a lusty haze clouding his face as he urged her on all fours, golden clamps dangling beneath her and slinking toward Mara who watched her approach in a senseless daze.

The Favourite’s gaze craned to meet her dead stare for the first time and Mara gasped. Two eyes like periwinkles lined in pale lashes stared back. Mara felt mesmerized by their inhuman cast. Perhaps she was half-human, a Mirialan hybrid. They were known for purple eyes, though her complexion was spotless, bearing none of the tattoos typical of that race.

All further thoughts on her origins vanished as the Favourite rose to her knees, white-blonde hair brushing the tops of Mara’s breasts as she hovered over her. The angelic face staring back sent a tingle through Mara as those amethyst eyes seared every inch of skin. Lyra’s long, pale neck bent, pink tongue tasting the nectar on her lips. The kiss rolled through her entire body, escaping in a strangled whimper as Lyra’s thighs spread, legs bracketing her hips and the rest of the room melted away. Her winsome body rolled against Mara, soft buttocks sinking to the tops of her thighs, the tiny clamps scraping her nipples as her back bowed, sending little sparks down her spine.

Mara froze, shuddering at the foreign thrill of firm breasts pressing her own. Had she been bold or drunk or both, Mara would have caressed them as she found herself secretly wanting. After the initial shock passed, her muscles slacked and she kissed back, hands skimming Lyra’s lower back, reveling in the feathery skin beneath her fingertips.

One hand wound Mara’s hair, carding her tender scalp as their bodies sealed together. Lyra’s heated core grinding hotly into her hips only made her all the more desperate to stimulate the bundle of nerves pulsing between her own legs. Lyra slid down her thighs now, lips sponging her slickened skin before veering off to one breast, peppering it with little kitten licks, lapping the bud clean of the sticky remnants Hux left behind. She finally took the petalled skin in her mouth fully, sucking the tip and a flutter of moans escaped the brunette squirming under her ministrations. 

A rising sigh contorted into a yelp at the sharp pain slicing through Mara, body flinching and gaze dropping to find the delicate clamp squeezing her left nipple. It swelled between jagged teeth, bringing a devilish smile to Lyra’s lips. She opened the second clasp and added it to Mara’s other pulsing pebble, earning another groan. Hux’s sharp inhale reached her ears. She let out a whine at the shock of pleasure radiating from the nipped buds as Lyra blazed a sopping trail toward her belly button.

Lyra pressed a hand flat on Mara’s stomach, pushing her down until her shoulders touched the floor. It was cold, sending shivers up her spine as she lay there, naked and spread beneath her General. Her eyes darted to Hux, who watched her intently, tracing the delicate chain pulled taut between each nipple, his dark gaze flooding the throbbing cunt in Lyra’s path. 

Movement caught her periphery. Her eyes swept upward, past General Hux to find her reflection in a mirrored ceiling. A fleeting thought about the room’s true purpose crossed her mind as she watched the Favourite arch her back, head diving and taut little ass rising as she kissed down Mara’s stomach. 

By the time Lyra reached her mound, her core twinged expectantly and legs trembled openly with desire, awaiting the warm tongue on her pleasure center. When it finally pressed the pulsing hood, a strangled gasp rang out, loud and echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The mouth and lips lapping her slit electrified every nerve ending, drawing a string of desperate cries that now filled the room.

Her gaze shot upward, glimpsing the mirrored image of the table above, Drisla perched on one side, palming the bulge in his trousers. Mara shut her eyes to avoid watching her own rising orgasm, a deep shame filling her at the thought of writhing naked beneath General Hux’s cold leer. But it was the thought of him that brought her to the very edge. Those pupils, blown wide with arousal and scanning her flushed face while the blonde-haired nymph buried her nose between her thighs brought her to near climax.

Her hands reached for Lyra’s head, fingers threading her hair, driving that skillful tongue deeper into her soaked folds, begging for sweet relief from the heat coiling in her spine. Lyra quickened her pace and the tiny waves of pleasure tremorred through her, building until they blazed bright white. The steady, waving rhythm drove her mind blank as her hips began convulsing. The tongue flicking her engorged clit drew a high-pitched cry as her orgasm unfurled, submerging her in a euphoria that captured her entire body. In a few hot seconds, it was over and as she lay there in her self-made dark, the horror of what just happened beginning to sink in. 

Her own drumming pulse was all Mara could hear as Lyra rose from the floor, followed by Drisla’s low whistle. When her eyes opened, it was to the sight of General Hux, arm jutting toward her, fingers grasping the dainty chain now pulling her reddened peaks upward, body scrambling to follow suit. He tugged her toward him, dragging her into his lap and she saw his face finally, veiled in lust, as he positioned her to straddle his thigh.

“Charming,” Drisla praised, admiring the sight before him: the young, handsome General fondling the delicate chain connecting Mara’s pinched nipples, index finger looping the slack, wringing a desperate moan at each languid turn. 

“You’re torturing me, Armitage,” The Councilor crowed, though the words came laced in desire and his eyes looked glassy as they slithered over her.

The General only sneered in response as he continued teasing her breasts, the chain winding around his knuckle, shortening the length between each clamp until they nearly touched. Her nipples ached from the pressure and she let out a low whine at the heat bolting straight to her cunt. 

He then slipped his finger free, uncoiling the chain and releasing the tension until her breasts bounced apart. The motion left her breathless and falling back against his chest. He felt warm beneath her, the smooth planes of his uniform causing her body to shudder as it skimmed her spine. The twin sensations, pain at her breasts and pleasure at her back, left her wracked in a delicious dichotomy that brought a sulking frown to the Councilor’s creased lips. 

“Now you’re just being rude,” Drisla grumbled, hands gliding back to his lap.

Hux only chuckled at the comment, rolling her hips against him and forcing a surprised yelp at the hardness twitching beneath her. “How so?”

“Showing her off like that without even offering to share.” 

“Ah—but you see, Councilor, nothing is for free,” Hux challenged, hand caressing her temple and delicately tucking a stray lock of hair. “I’m sure a banker such as yourself can appreciate that?” 

“And what do you have in mind?”

“You _know_ what I came here for,” said Hux, never one to show his hand. “Make an offer.” 

Mara blanched, eyes widening and gripping his hand beneath the table in silent protest. Absolute obedience. That much he made crystal clear, but surely he wouldn’t order her to…? Even as a ‘Favourite’, she was still property of the First Order and Hux ardently refused to surrender her to the Hutts, but would Drisla be any different? The stakes were much higher now. Ren would likely kill him or beat him within an inch of his life if he failed. Surely that prospect altered the equation. 

His hand pulled her from her thoughts, squeezing her own in return, but the pressure made no distinction of promise or portend. 

“I’ll underwrite your loan,” Drisla replied, desperation seeping through as he watched her pant against the clothed cock now rubbing her core. “Personally.”

“All eight hundred million?” Hux clarified and Mara froze. She knew the loan requested must have been substantial for the General himself to be involved. But this was...astronomical. She now understood why Hux so vehemently resisted opening a new front. Especially one as dicey as Coruscant. It was a gamble to the tune of _eight hundred million credits._

“The most I can give you is six. You’ll have to get the other two somewhere else.”

“What a shame,” Hux remarked, nuzzling her forehead as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the heady cologne on his collar. His hands, free of leather gloves for once, embraced her in a surprisingly tender way, and it was either his touch or the prospect of Drisla that made her all the more needy for him.

“And a lower interest rate,” he added quickly.

“How low?” The General purred, Adam’s apple bobbing against her nose, roving fingers falling lower and lower until his thumb padded the velvety hood ballooning from her slit.

“Twelve percent,” Drisla answered, eyes searching the General’s while tentatively edging forward to get a better view. “I’ll send her back to you in the morning.”

“Lower,” he growled, feeding off her budding arousal, nipping her earlobe and reaping a strangled sigh. She moved against him, hips grinding her wetness into his straining bulge until the juices soaked through his pant leg.

“You can stay—you can _join,_ if you want,” Drisla said, voice catching in his throat as if the prospect of Hux joining was not at all a disappointing one. “But that’s the lowest I can authorize.”

“Then draw up the contract and we’ll be on our way,” Hux replied all too simply, mouth sponging her neck in a trail of searing kisses and index finger tracing her gushing folds. “She’s temptingly wet and I’m growing impatient.”

The General’s breath caressed the side of her face, sending a shiver through her. Mara was unsure if that was true or just a threat to bait Drisla, but whomever it served to provoke, it worked. 

“Ten! I can do ten, but that’s the _absolute_ lowest I can go.”

“No.” The General’s finger dipped inside of her now, groaning at how easily it slid through to her slick passage, palm pushing against her heated mound.

“Then name a rate!” Drisla cried, voice cracking with exasperation. 

“Poor Councilor,” Hux murmured, eyes glazed as his hand lifted her chin to look at him. “He really is desperate for you, isn’t he?”

For all the General’s teasing, he looked equally desperate and she must have mirrored his expression as his thumb kneaded her swollen clit. Drisla be damned. She had already debased herself once and would gladly do it again if Hux offered to take her right then and there.

“Two.” Despite his simple answer, those bright eyes gleamed in triumph.

“TWO?” Drisla croaked. “ _Two_ percent? Are you insane? The Council would have my head!”

“ _Someone_ may have your head either way.”

“What are you talking about?” Drisla seethed, eyes sharp with disbelief.

“Have you ever been to Jakku, Councilor?” Hux asked, a second finger casually pumping her dripping hole and sinking her nervous system into a frenzy.

“No.”

“Good. I wouldn’t recommend it,” He replied, lips placing an oddly chaste kiss at the base of Mara’s jaw. “It’s full of annoying insects.” His eyes flicked to Drisla. “Sand flies in particular,” he added, free hand carding her hair as she surrendered to the manual pleasure igniting her, mindlessly moaning into his neck. 

“The locals had a saying about them. What was it?” Hux’s hand paused, musing on it, though Mara knew the question to be theatrical. “Oh yes, you can catch more sand flies with honey than vinegar. And I’ve tried the honey—quite literally,” he sighed, teeth grazing the shell of her ear, harsh eyes cutting to Drisla. “Now for the vinegar.”

“The vinegar?” Drisla’s voice hitched to an uneasy edge.

“I know whose names are in your holodex,” Hux’s voice lowered dangerously, all pretenses dropped. “So many with ties to criminal organizations. How might Black Sun or Crimson Dawn react to you skimming millions off the top of their accounts?”

“I won’t be threatened by the likes of you,” Drisla contested, his own voice leveling at the thinly-veiled charge. “You’re lucky I even took this meeting after what you did on Nal Hutta.”

Hux smiled, eyes twinkling in smug delight as Mara breathed deeply through her nose, her own body at war with the edging threat of climax and danger crackling the air around her.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” 

“In the worst ways,” he sneered between gritted teeth. “ _You_ destabilized Hutt Space. IGBC backed Progga’s clan and the civil war incited by you cost us money. _A lot_ of money.”

“The Hutts are always a liability,” The General dismissed with a sip of his goblet. “Perhaps you should work on mitigating your own risk.”

“Perhaps,” Drisla countered, “And as a way to mitigate any future risk, _you_ should know that we’ve been advised against extending more lines of credit to the First Order.” 

“Then that puts you in a very precarious position, doesn’t it?” Hux pondered archly, Imperial accent growing more precise by the minute.

“You have no proof of malfeasance.”

“I thought you might say that,” Hux tutted breezily, hands leaving Mara to reach for the coat hanging from his chair. 

“Now, I must admit I would have rather avoided this, especially with information being at a premium,” Hux added, dropping a small, dark puck on the table and Mara caught the spark of fear lighting the old man’s face. “I had hoped to save it for my own benefit, quite frankly. But unfortunately you and the Supreme Leader leave me no choice.”

The General pressed down the puck and a blue hologram wavered to life. Mara watched the Councilor’s eyes widen in recognition. His miniature figure donned a robe, no more than a simple dressing gown, suggesting the recording took place in an intimate environment, maybe a bedroom, and by the sounds of it, surreptitiously. 

_“Those idiots don’t even track the receipts. If a few credits go missing here and there, they’d be none the wiser…You just need enough accounts to spread it around of course, but it adds up over time...”_

Drisla sat stunned, mouth ajar like a scalefish caught on a particularly large hook. When his voice returned, it was as if the words fell from his mouth before his lips could catch them.

“Where did that…How did you…?”

Hux refused to answer and instead leaned into the back of his chair, pulling Mara’s naked body with him and lovingly stroking her hair. The master of another man’s domain and drowning in supreme satisfaction.

“Come, Lyra.”

Drisla’s head whipped around so fast Mara could have sworn his neck cracked. Lyra rose up from the Councilor’s feet, wrapped once more in shimmersilk as she stood. Drisla’s incredulous gaze swept over her as if seeing her for the first time. As if his seraphim had turned succubus before his very eyes. He reached out to grasp her hand, but her slender wrist slipped cruelly through as she strolled away. 

Mara must have looked equally as shocked, gaze ping ponging between Drisla and what she could see of the General’s face with her back against him. When her eyes reached Lyra, she saw the woman still held that oddly serene gaze, as if she was under a spell but of a different cast. 

“As it turns out…” Hux’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise as the Favourite dropped to Mara’s vacant cushion. “Your precious Lyra is no more _your_ girl than _mine_.”

“Lyra— _LYRA!_ What is the meaning of this?!” Drisla howled, face flush and eyes bulging in rage. “She came recommended from— 

“A mistress of Myhr?” Hux supplied. 

“But her training—how could she be...?”

“All faked and rather impressive, you must agree,” Hux said drolly, studying his fingernails. 

The color drained from the Councilor’s face and he seemed to age before them.

“That recording…” Drisla murmured. “How did you…? Where was it?”

“Why don’t you look into the camera,” Hux drawled, hand grasping Lyra’s chin and craning it up at Drisla. For the first time, a sly smile touched Lyra’s lips and Mara knew where the recording devices were that Drisla couldn’t see. Her eyes looked inhuman, because they _were_ inhuman _._

“Cybernetics,” he breathed in horror.

“Precisely,” Hux chimed.

“You work for him?” He croaked, looking down into those lilac eyes in stark terror and Mara was reminded of Le Hivre’s warning: _they have spies everywhere._

“...How much have you…?”

“Everything,” Hux answered. “She’s recorded you for months—right _now,_ actually.”

 _Everything?_ Mara’s face flushed in mortification, realizing that the last hour was preserved in a databank somewhere...

“Now that you know the true lay of the land...I wonder if you’ll reconsider my terms?”

Drisla’s eyes flickered to life then, flashing dangerously as he swept them both. “No! You think I’d let you leave now? I’ll have those recordings seized! You’ll be brought up on extortion!”

His outburst charged the air with nervous electricity and Mara pressed into Hux for reassurance, looking around for any signs of the servants from earlier.

“That’s your decision,” Hux said calmly. “But you should know that my men are ordered to transmit those recordings to every account holder you have in—” He checked his chrono, “—exactly one hour if an agreement isn’t received. So think quickly.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Don’t take it personally, Councilor,” Hux deadpanned, pulling out his datapad. It lit up to reveal a copy of the agreement in question, presumably with the General’s preferred terms. “I’ll even throw in another girl for your trouble.”

Drisla reached for the databad, cutting his eyes at Hux for adding insult to injury. The General studied his opponent’s defeated facade, hands roving the curves of her body beneath the table as the Councilor’s brow furrowed with further reading. General Hux’s cock hardened beneath her, the sadistic thrill of a well-executed coup de grâce coursing through him. His long, skillful fingers returned to pleasuring her slit as Drisla pressed his finger print to record his consent.

Seething and consumed with visible hatred, Drisla returned the signed contract to Hux who slipped it into his inner coat pocket.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

Hux gently slid Mara from his lap and gathered up his coat, draping it across his shoulders as he stood. Mara snatched her gown from the floor, skin tingling as she dressed, a lingering sense of danger crawling on her skin as her gaze darted to Councilor Drisla. His entire body frothed with exposed fury though he remained seated, almost pathetically, against the backdrop of his excess.

“You’ll regret this,” Drisla snarled. 

General Hux had already turned his back, intent on leaving the hall, but he froze, heels clicking together as he turned, one eyebrow raised in smug amusement. 

“I doubt it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you love reading about petty!Hux as much as I love writing him. We'll pick up next week where maybe we'll have a resolution to all of this teasing...? ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General makes good on his promise. Extremely E.

XV.

Mara’s head spun as they swept through the fortress tunnels, hot on Hux’s heels and checking over her shoulder with every turn. When she looked back, it was the stoic Lyra who trailed several strides behind them, not Drisla or his servants, though she feared he may appear any moment. Regardless of Hux’s arrogance, Mara had a feeling the Councilor was indeed correct on one account: this would not be the last of him. 

Before she knew it, they were already speeding through the hall of curio cabinets, each relic twinkling in the spotlights as they passed. They reminded her of the shelves in Hux’s quarters. All those antiques. And who could say how they were acquired? Like so many of the ill-begotten gains for a man like Drisla and all his equivalents in the galaxy, it was an unanswered question with no challenge. And the mysterious Lyra—was that _even_ her name? How was _she_ “acquired” by Drisla and the First Order before him? 

“Who is—” Mara paused, suddenly remembering protocol, though it felt rather silly considering the last few intimate hours. “I mean, permission to speak, sir?”

“Granted,” Hux barked, opening a giant door to the outer receiving hall and allowing her to walk through.

“Who is she?” Mara whispered, wondering if Lyra had enhanced hearing to match her vision.

“She’s an FOSB agent.”

“I mean, where did she come from?” she clarified, speeding up to walk astride him.

“Lothal, if you must know,” Hux chided in a tone so irritatingly flat that it brought a scowl to Mara’s face. “She was a vagrant working in the mines when the Order found her.”

“And how did you convince her to get cybernetic eyes?” She probed, skeptical that a ‘vagrant miner’ could afford such costly enhancements. Or that the First Order would even permit them with its reverence for High Human culture. Though she was familiar with the basic, xenophobic tenants of the theory, Mitaka explained that even cybernetic apparatus was frowned upon as it promoted an unnatural reliance on robotics. 

“I didn’t convince her. I did her a favor,” Hux corrected, signaling the command shuttle from his wristcomm. “She was blind in one eye already and half in the other.”

“What happened?” Mara huffed, practically sprinting to keep up as they escaped to the landing pad. Scipio’s winds picked up suddenly, whipping her skirts and ruffling the General’s hair as they stood beneath the shuttle once more. Looking back, she saw Lyra not far behind, the folds of her dress flying around her and still no Drisla in sight. 

“Mining accident. Luckily, I recognized her assets—” _I bet you did,_ Mara sneered. “—and felt they could be put to better use than digging for trinium. I offered her vision in exchange for her services to the Order.” 

Somehow Mara doubted the scenario was as simple as the General described.

“How many more ‘Lyras’ are out there?” She asked, catching her breath and watching the ramp lower just before the woman in question caught them.

Hux let out an amused snort, sharp gaze catching her own, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Mara froze, feet awkwardly glued to the ramp as the General disappeared into the main cabin. _What was that supposed to mean?_ It seemed safer somehow not to think about it too deeply, especially in light of more immediate concerns—like getting off this planet. Casting it aside for now, she shuffled into the command shuttle behind him.

Her anxiety only subsided once Captain Tovar began pre-flight checks, though she silently willed him to hurry up. With fingertips rapping the viewport window, she vigilantly inspected their surroundings, waiting for the fortress doors to fly open and a retinue of guards to pour out. It was the General’s voice that snapped her out of this anxious reverie. He was not speaking to her, but Lyra, offering her the guest compartment until they reached the nearest outpost on which she would be dropped. Lyra accepted, nodding her head in silent appreciation before walking to the back of the shuttle. 

Mara waited for the guest compartment to slide shut, the door’s click releasing white hot ire, realizing that Hux let her walk into a dangerous situation completely blind. Again. 

Retracing the last few hours did nothing to calm her and instead brought a sudden deluge of anger, humiliation and most confusing of all, desire. It was this place. It did something to her. She wanted to muster a torrent of rage, voice mirroring the rising anxiety and fury swirling in spite of it all, but when she finally spoke, her voice sputtered weakly.

“Is it true?” She asked, the edges of despair creeping into every syllable. “What you said?”

“Is what true?” Hux echoed, the words sounding precise and absolute while slipping his greatcoat off with frustrating aplomb. 

“That she’s your girl?” Mara winced, wishing for words more clever. But a blunt question was all that came to her now and she sounded as pathetic as saying it made her feel. Why did she even care? Her entire history with Hux was a deception so why would it matter if he’s fucking someone else?

“She works for me, yes. Just as you do.”

It wasn’t an answer. It was an evasion, flooding her with acid and eating away at the separation of words shooting from mind to mouth. 

“So she’s just another play thing?”

Hux paused at that, eyes brightening with amusement as he hung the coat inside a hidden panel. 

“Jealousy is rather becoming of you,” he observed, mouth stretching into a sardonic smile. “But to answer your question: no, kitten, that honor is reserved only for you.”

“And what about the honor of being your bargaining chip?” Mara snapped, the charge spiked in bitter resentment.

“You were never my bargaining chip.”

“You _told_ him to make an offer,” Mara challenged, tone harsh enough to earn a month of reconditioning for anyone else but it seemed to bother Hux not a single iota as he retained that iron-clad composure despite her fury. The one that only riled her further. 

“An empty promise,” he answered dryly. As if to show her how refined, how evolved he was compared to the lowly, emotional _farm girl_ who proved nothing more than a gormless pawn in his well-laid plans.

 _“Only because you didn’t like the terms!”_

Her voice boomed in the tiny cabin, loud in her own ears and sharpened to a biting edge as her gaze pinned Hux down. They stood like that for mere seconds, as if daring one another to move, the growing silence burying her deeper in doubt and confirming her worst fears. She had finally gone too far. 

Whether it was the words or the tone, Mara would never know, but she had tripped a wire in the maze of General Hux. His smirk suddenly melted, gaze flashing like razors and lurching at her with shocking sleight. He snatched her arm, jerking her toward him and heading toward his compartment. In seconds they were passing under its threshold. The door slid shut and he hauled her up against the wall, body pressing her into it. Panicking, Mara swiped up, hand open and aiming for his face. He intercepted her, palm clapping her wrist and pinning it above her with a resounding _smack_.

“You _are_ a wild one.”

“You were going to give me to him!” she wailed, eyes bright and swimming with tears unshed. “You were going to let him!”

A flaming heat consumed her, hands tingling and blood rushing from her fingertips, heart swelling until it squeezed painfully. With pulse buzzing between her temples, she writhed like an angry loth cat, free hand launching to land a scratch, but it too joined her other wrist, hoisted above her in Hux’s bruising grip as he now restrained her completely.

“Do you _really_ think I would let that decrepit lecher lay a finger on you?”

The question lingered, hovering around her like a heavy fog. She only surfaced at the softening grip on her wrists, putting a stop to her all struggling. His hand turned gentle, slowly caressing her fingers and eyes falling into a possessive stare laced with unslakable lust.

“I don’t know,” she whispered breathlessly, chest rising and falling, eyes searching for hints of malice as he leaned in, mouth hovering close enough to feel his breath tickling her lips.

“Then allow me to remove any doubt.” 

The declaration rumbled her ears. It was crisp, assertive and intensely erotic, charging her with unshakeable want as he closed the distance, nailing her to the wall with a violent snap of his firm body. His lips fell, sealing her own in a burst of desire that rippled through her and a deep moan of surprise and relief tore from her throat at his uniform’s hard ridges raking against her. And his mouth, for all the brutality it wrought, was beguilingly soft, beckoning her to deepen the kiss despite the danger it promised.

He pulled away, earning a desperate whine as his lips fell to trail her jaw before working his way back. And it was then, with his mouth on the hollow of her throat, that a moment of clarity settled over her. There was no way back now. To pretend otherwise was to spin a lie made for no one but herself. Hux may have brought her to the cliff, but it was Mara who stood at the edge. And it was Mara who would jump at the nearest hint of a command. _And god, was she ready to jump._

“No one will ever,” he said, “touch,” between kisses, “what belongs,” now claiming her lips, “to me.” 

His gaze, locked and resolute, sent a chill down her spine ending in a delicious heat at the juncture of her thighs. Above her, his hand laced her captive fingers and her heartbeat hammered at the other hand ghosting her thigh, fluid digits dragging the delicate hem to her hips, exposing her legs and sending a shiver through her body. 

“You can’t know that,” Mara sputtered, mind fluttering to the irate Drisla, wondering to what end he was prepared to go.

“Can’t I?” he challenged, hiking her thigh to press his hardened bulge against her bare slit. She cried out, gasp crackling with ecstasy. “I would sooner lay siege to Scipio than let him have you,” he growled, fingers searching for the fastenings of her dress with increasing agitation.

He shrugged, clearly giving up on the hidden clasps and instead slipped a vibroblade from his inner sleeve. Mara’s eyes popped at the gleam of it, unaware he had such a weapon hidden away. It thrummed to life and he pressed the tip to her neckline, slicing the fabric at her collar and dragging it down in one fluid motion before tossing it aside. She mourned the tatters as they fell to the floor, clit tingling in suspense as Hux appreciated her naked form. His gaze reached her breasts, the forgotten clamps piercing her anew and she could see the feral glint overtaking him.

“You should wear them more often,” Hux remarked, gloved fingers fondling the chain before snapping it taut, pulling the pinched peaks and sweeping her up in a ravenous kiss. Her hands climbed the back of his neck, fingers carding fiery locks as he traversed the curves of her body, his exploration ending at her thighs where he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling her away from the wall. He crossed the room in two strides and tossed her on the bed that served as backdrop to her pain and now her pleasure.

The bed sunk beneath her and her core ached for the man towering over her, for that fierce gaze drinking in her sprawled form as he made short work of his uniform. Discarding the jacket, it revealed a white undershirt and Mara suppressed the grin threatening her lips. He looked boyish and oddly informal stripped down like this, and she almost forgot her place, hands reaching up to unfasten his trousers like any normal lover might. 

_“No,”_ he barked, pinning her hands at eye level, the motion spreading her breasts and straining the golden chain between them. 

“Stay.”

Mara keened at the gruff order and the pinching clamps, hips arching to brush the ridge pressing his pants. It was his turn to let out a breathy groan as he unzipped himself, hand pumping the slip of pink that tumbled out. 

She swallowed at the sight of his twitching cock. He was big. Much bigger than Mara would have guessed and the length of it sent a sharp inhale to her lungs and a twinge to her cunt.

Her lips moistened as she watched his leathered fingers work the tender bulge. How long would he make her wait? What did he say before? She needed to _earn_ it. Was she earning it now? Mara bucked her hips again, silently begging him to just _touch_ her, humiliation be damned. 

Hux smirked at her desperation as he shed his undershirt. So transparent, his little kitten. And so wonderfully needy. He could see her slit glistening with want and he was more than happy to accommodate. 

With one hand occupied, Hux pinched the seam of a gloved fingertip between his teeth, pulling until his hand slipped free. He grabbed the empty glove and popped it against her clit. She gasped at the sting of pain, biting her lip, the shock subsiding as a wave of pleasure coursed the pulsing hood.

“I said _stay,_ ” he murmured, more forceful this time, dipping his cock in a tantalizing swipe against her nether seam. The tip was slippery and hot, spreading the swollen lips, drawing a breathless groan from Mara as she forced herself still. General Hux could see what she needed, of course. But it aroused him more to deprive her of it.

“Is this what you want?” he taunted, perfect features exercising total control, filling her with shame and lust all at once as he pushed further, the blunt head breaching her silken folds. She grew dizzy, nodding eagerly, hoping it pleased him.

“Then ask for it.”

“Please!”

“Please what?” A single eyebrow rose as he lowered onto his elbows, face hovering over her but refusing to go any further. Her cunt quivered, clenching in anticipation of his full girth.

“Please sir!” she cried.

“What can I do for you?” he breathed, inching a little further, the blunt head squeezing her inner walls. She bit her lip, infuriated and horrified at how much he enjoyed humiliating her. And equally as horrified at how wet it made her.

“Please fuck me...sir”

“Mhhhhm,” he hummed, “since you asked so nicely…”

With a single thrust, he sheathed himself completely and her body fluttered breathlessly around him, savoring that first, glorious stretch that left her panting and moaning beneath him. Her body seemed to tighten even more, forcing a gasp from Hux who, for all his storied discipline, felt the edges of control slipping at the delectable warmth enveloping him now. 

Hux looked down to find her eyes closed, the sliver of teeth peeking from under a curled upper lip as she breathed deeply, adjusting to him as he bottomed out.

“Open your eyes, kitten,” he ordered, hand cradling her head, angling it down to where their bodies joined. “I want you to watch me fuck you.” 

The order, guttural and demanding, sent a wave of heat to her cunt, flooding it until she was drooling around the cock now sinking slowly into her. Hux watched as well, doling out measured strokes and lavishing open-mouth kisses on her neck to keep from moaning out loud. Her sweet little groans were almost his undoing, urging him to throw away his careful designs and instead unleash the inner, animalistic needs nipping at him. But Armitage Hux was not one to tolerate shortcuts. Not even in pleasure.

Instead, he swiped at the chain dangling between her breasts, enjoying the way her mouth fell as he twisted it, pulling the delicate buds into sharpened peaks. For Mara, the spark of pleasure was instant, tweaking her nipples as he rolled his hips, tip touching the tender spot within her. She whimpered under his touch and a surge of desire possessed him at his complete mastery over her. If only he could keep her trussed up in his own quarters, available for him whenever he wanted. _A possibility to look forward to_ , he thought and mentally filed it away.

“You’ve been such a good kitten,” he whispered and her head bobbed in agreement. So eager. “Do you think you deserve to come now?”

“Yes, sir. Please,” she choked, mewling at the small, methodical strokes designed to keep her on the edge of orgasm.

He took a deep breath and placed her hands at the small of his back, inviting her to dictate the pace. Her ankles wrapped around his and she slowly undulated her hips, as if testing out her permissions. When she looked up, she found his eyes dilated, the blue in them reduced to tiny rings. The sight of them, hungrily taking her in, flushed her with warmth and her hips finally bucked, wrenching a guttural moan from the General and his length spread her open. Her fingers pressed into the muscles at the base of his spine, and she gulped, resuming a quicker pace, legs quaking at the press of his body against her slick mound.

She found a rhythm that perfectly pressed at both pleasure centers, shivering at the feel of his cock slamming into her. She cried out, not caring if anyone heard and Hux slipped his hands under her, drawing her entire body against him as he plunged deep enough to send her crashing in ecstasy. 

He could feel her spasming around him and he lost all control, hips jerking at her wanton response. His orgasm pressed at the tightened head and he managed a few more thrusts before he was gushing inside of her and they both came in a chorus of desperate breaths. Their bodies melted and her head lolled to the side as they laid there, damp limbs intertwined as a deep breath rippled through her. 

There was no going back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long time, but I probably wrote and rewrote the majority of it no less than 10 times. Just wanted to strike the right tone, especially when it came to characterizing Mara's inner feelings, which are wrapped up in a lot of contradictions. 
> 
> Thank you for being so patient and hope you enjoy!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The General and Mara face their decisions. Or not. And Ren has a proposition.

XVI.

Mara awoke alone. She searched her surroundings but General Hux left no trace, as if he never existed to begin with. Not that she expected to wake up, cradled in his arms. Hux didn’t strike her as the type to bother with pillow talk or after care. But the prospect wasn’t particularly unpleasant either. Perhaps it would have distracted her from the fallout of this “decision.” If fucking your enemy could be called that. 

Mara sat up, the coverlet falling from her body and rubbed her eyes viciously. This was definitely _not_ part of the plan and yet...maybe it wasn’t the worst thing? Though she blushed at Le Hivre’s not-so-subtle suggestion, he was right. Sex was a weapon. One that she could wield if only she was clever and very careful. Not that she felt like either of those things right now.

With a groan, she peeled the blanket back and retrieved her uniform where it still hung on the refresher door, stepping over the remnants of her dress en route. Gingerly pulling her trousers and jacket on, she ducked her own reflection in the process, preferring to avoid _that_ particular critic. As she pulled her hair into regulation once more, the ship rumbled beneath her and the atmosphere shifted as the shuttle prepared for landing.

 _Just pull yourself together,_ her inner voice scolded and she reached for the door’s release with a deep breath. She stepped out of the General’s personal quarters, looking around to find the shuttle quite empty except for Hux himself who sat back in his command chair, looking every inch the man she first met all those months before.

“You’re awake,” Hux remarked, as if it were no more than a simple fact. One completely and conveniently detatched to the broader need for sleep to begin with. “Good.”

Mara stared blankly. So he preferred not to discuss what had transpired between them. Perfect. Better if both parties completely ignored the mere existence of it. She should be glad. She didn’t even want or know how to begin a conversation remotely personal with the aloof General and yet...somehow it only made her more irritable. As if he could just cast it off. As if it was nothing. Was it nothing? 

A high pitched squeal snapped her to the present where the hangar’s tube lights now streamed into the cabin, casting her surroundings in harsh blue hues.

“Do you require an invitation?” Hux scowled, already standing at the shuttle ramp. It was hard to imagine those patronizing lips kissed her only hours before.

“No, sir,” Mara grumbled, grabbing her garment bag and following him out onto the flight line. They were back on the _Steadfast_ and Hux was all business, it seemed.

“We’ve been summoned by Supreme Leader Ren.”

_“Now?”_

“Is he known for his patience?” Hux quipped.

“What should I do with my uniform bag?” Mara asked, suddenly feeling stupid for carrying it around. The General shot her a withering look before flagging down a passing officer Mara recognized as a Lieutenant from Mitaka’s own armband.

“You there,” Hux barked, invoking his most authoritative tone. The blonde, male officer turned, eyes widening at the General as if hoping the opportunity to impress a superior had finally arrived.

“Yes, sir!” he chirped, snapping smartly to attention.

“Ensure this is returned to her quarters,” said Hux, casually dismissing him and plucking the garment bag from Mara’s hands. The nameless Lieutenant let out a deflated ‘yes, sir’ before scurrying away, her garment bag whisked in the opposite direction as they approached the turbolifts.

“When we meet with Ren, do not speak unless addressed and control your thoughts,” Hux said, entering an empty lift and whipping out his code cylinder to engage it. Two other officers attempted to board but the General cut them off with a wordless warning, finger wagging in their faces. They paused, clearly taken aback as the doors reduced them to a sliver of scowls before closing completely.

“And stop looking like that,” he chided, the directive rolling off her shoulders with a violent snap.

“Like what?” Mara snarled, throwing in a half-hearted ‘sir’ for protocol’s sake. Not that it mattered, she soon realized, as protocol seemed to be the very _last_ thing on Hux’s mind; the rough draw of her into his greatcoat shooting a bolt of desire through her. 

“Like you need an encore,” he murmured, hands caging her face in leathered fingertips, warm, wet mouth enveloping her own in an answer to a question left unspoken: it wasn’t nothing. He had meant it and for all his fabled control, he craved her now as if nothing else mattered.

Mara swallowed hotly, face burning at the soft tongue beckoning her mouth open. Her pliant lips fell under his commanding spell, granting him entrance as her hands darted inside his coat. The embrace tightened, bringing an urgency to the fluttering heat pressing her hip and a distressed mewl escaping her throat while attempting to grind against him. His height kept their hips from reaching, the difference forcing her on tip toe, core tantalizingly close to the rigid head, but not close enough to satisfy.

An amused hum left Hux. As much as he enjoyed her little whimpers, he wasn’t keen on tease when time grew short. Leaning against the lift wall, he parted her legs on his knee and cupped her ass, sliding her up his thigh. Their twin sighs echoed in the lift, bodies angling so his clothed erection nestled between her legs and her arms circled his neck, utterly lost in the heat and hands reducing her to primitive urges. 

Her inner thighs pulsed in a bid for friction, panting against him and core slickening, drenching her panties as she rode him through his clothes. She was practically sopping when her gaze fleetingly met his to find black pupils swallowing irises of light blue. Black like volcanic quicksand, she knew if she fell into them she’d never emerge. 

_If only there were more levels to this damn ship_ , Hux lamented. Then he could properly push her down on bended knee, gloved hand tangling her hair and sink his cock past those pouting lips. But it wasn’t to be.

As if through telepathy, the lift dinged, alerting them to their destination and eliciting an audible shrug from Mara. Hux chuckled, muttering a promise to “finish this later” before straightening himself. Conversely, Mara stood still, missing the arch look Hux cast her, dazed and willing the warmth to drain from her cheeks. _So much for controlled thoughts,_ she sneered as the lift doors peeled back. 

If any thought remained, it was quickly banished by the scene unfurling before them. The doors revealed a darkened room where a spotlight shone on Kylo Ren, striking features ringed in shadow and reclining, almost lazily, in an oversized throne. All of it hung on a backdrop of distant starlight, little pin pricks flickering in the dark as if he floated in open space, rendering Kylo every inch the Supreme Leader of the known Galaxy. How infuriating it must be for the General to see him like this. 

If the image incensed Hux, his face betrayed him as Mara held back a step, allowing him to confidently lead their procession down the aisle. The stretch felt needlessly long and she wondered if it was by design, a physical impediment contrived to delay their destination and draw out the agony of reaching it. They finally neared the dias' steps, her pulse tumbling as they came to a stop. If that was the intent, Mara could at least attest to its efficacy. 

“I hear you have news for me?” Ren purred, voice unmodulated as it echoed in the vast chamber. Rather than face the Supreme Leader, Mara swiveled, her skin prickling as if something or someone moved the air around them.

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” the General replied, albeit stiffly. “The required funding was secured and a copy of the agreement is in process.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ren concurred, mouth twitching in derisive delight. “And to think you doubted your abilities...”

“It wasn’t easy,” Hux scoffed. _And far from amiable,_ he thought. 

“And yet here you are,” Ren taunted, mouth twisting in a mock grin. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.” The words were ground through Hux’s molars and Mara needn’t look up to know a narrow-eyed grimace tested his features. 

“Snoke was always convinced of your value. He was wrong about a lot of things…”

 _‘Like your loyalty?’_ Hux sneered fleetingly, the rejoinder slipping from his subconscious before quickly suppressing it. 

“...but I see this wasn’t one of them.”

“I’m glad I can be of service,” Hux deadpanned, the eye roll all but present in his actual eyes.

“While I don’t doubt your sincerity,” Ren goaded, rising up in a titanic stripe of black. “I have news that might make you genuinely glad.” 

The air shifted and the General’s sharp interest dangled on a tenterhook as Ren descended the throne, the lightness of his step belying his bulk. Hux remained silent as he consumed the space between them, eyes tracking Ren like an edgehawk until they stood toe to toe. Even Mara admired his refusal to wither beneath the Supreme Leader’s relentless stare that now glittered with a roguish gleam.

“You were right, General.” 

“I usually am,” Hux intoned, “but you’ll need to be more specific.” 

“About Coruscant,” Ren answered, looking more amused than annoyed. “Taking it requires skill and keeping it even more so. I have no interest in politics, but I understand its uses.”

The mention of politics brought another General to mind and Mara had to forcibly block the woman’s face from her thoughts. Yes, the son of a famous senator surely understood the importance of politics if anyone did. 

“ _And_...?”

“And if you give it to me, there may be a promotion in order.”

“To what?” Hux snapped, accent growing in precision apace with his irritation, but Ren paid him no mind.

“How does ‘Chancellor’ sound?”

The question echoed in the room and there was no doubt that only one of those words still bounced around Hux’s ears. Mara would have given anything for Ren’s abilities right then. 

“Emperor sounds better,” Hux countered though he couldn’t clear the lilt of intrigue from his voice. 

The Supreme Leader let out a chuckle, low in tone and facetious in tenor. 

“If you deliver Coruscant, you can have whatever title you want—

The General’s mouth opened, a riposte at the ready—

“—As long as it isn’t _mine._ ”

“It’s not a question of ‘if’,” Hux glowered, dismissing the hint of doubt inherent in Ren’s words.

“—But ‘when’?”

“Yes, _when_ we acquire the right allies.”

“What allies?” Ren growled, an edge of annoyance creeping into the very question.

“The Zeltronian royal family, to start,” the General let out a huff of air, clearly weighing something in his mind. “And as much as I loathe to suggest it, if you’re serious, you’ll join the delegation.”

“Why should I waste my time kissing the ring of some queen?”

“Because _some queen_ controls Coruscant’s most profitable enterprises,” Hux replied in his most cavalier tone, “—on _both_ sides of the law. Don’t insult them, Ren. Royals expect to be entreated from the highest ranks.”

“Give yourself a little credit, General.”

“I give myself plenty, but as you so graciously pointed out, _you’re_ the Supreme Leader and if you want to assure our success then you’ll pay them the respect they’re owed.”

Ren’s scowl deepened as if the very idea of visiting a tropical paradise like Zeltros was the worst punishment one could imagine.

“Send me the departure details.”

Mara was suddenly thankful for the dim light that surely hid her shock. She could hardly believe her ears. Not only the offer—Emperor—but the olive branch. As tense as the exchange was, Ren appeared to be forging a real alliance with Hux, not fighting him for once. 

“You’re dismissed,” Ren barked, returning to his throne.

The General threw Mara a relieved glance as they turned to leave.

“Not _you_ , Tallion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving you on a cliffhanger this time and the promise of a trip to Zeltros for this unlikely trio. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, kudo’d and subscribed! You all provide so much inspiration and encouragement! Wishing you all the best and see you next week.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren makes good on a promise.

XVII.

_What did he say?_

The words ricocheted in the room, bouncing around the inner canals of Mara’s ears, rolling down every crevice before landing on her consciousness. _Not you._

Blood rushed to her face, a nervous pitter-patter vibrating her chest. Had she misheard him? Her gaze darted to the General, begging for reassurance. The flustered glare shrouding his features only confirmed what her nerves already knew.

She should say something, anything, but nothing could explain the need for a private audience with a lowly officer like herself. And despite Hux’s direct order to report any encounters with Ren, she of course never mentioned the very minor detail of the Supreme Leader’s request for intel. 

Her mouth opened then, not knowing what words would come, but it didn’t matter. They would never be said as Hux interjected suddenly, voice hitching in an indignant beat.

“What could you _possibly_ want—” 

But the query never reached its close. Dark cloth fluttered in darker shadows and the words died on Hux’s lips. Mara drew to his side, searching for safe harbor from the spectral figures now looming in the edges of the light. They were unlike anything in the First Order, or at least unlike anything Hux would have ever permitted.

Their appearances alone must have galled the General with their dirty, dented plates draped beneath ragged capes as if they had stepped off the battlefield and directly into the throne room. Menacing helms molded in silver inlay, vocoders and visors hid their faces, each one echoing their leader as if made in his very image. And in every hand lay a blade, their glinting edges drawing her widened gaze to grisly silhouettes of axes, cleavers and clubs.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, General?” Ren asked, grinning at the snarl distorting his rival’s face as they stared one another down, each waiting for the other to flinch. Mara waited as well, terrified Hux may actually leave her here with the mercurial Knight and his ghastly acolytes. But then again, what choice did Hux really have?

“ _Leave_ unless you’d like an escort,” Ren rumbled, his earlier amusement vanished at the General’s enduring impudence. And as if to reinforce the point, his enclave pressed closer, their gauntlets and greaves clattering in unholy unison.

Hux’s relentless gaze finally gave way, the bite softening as it landed on Mara. She felt the weight of it despite the advancing threat and when she finally looked up, his face was like an anchor in the dark. His eyes had lost their bitter edge, the sharpness turned surprisingly tender. And for a brief moment, her heart fluttered in reply. 

But in a flash it was gone, so quickly as if it lived and died in the blink of an eye, its absence leaving a shuddering within her. His face suddenly hardened, returning to the detached malice Mara was so very used to from her superior. And though his words were clearly aimed at Ren, his eyes never left her face.

“If I find so much as a single scratch—

“Relax, General. Only a child would break another man’s toy.”

 _“My point exactly,”_ Hux gritted through clenched teeth, sweeping the room in a severe glare that served as a final warning. “A single. _Scratch._ ” He seethed before turning on his polished heel. 

A rising panic roiled her insides at his retreat, fighting the urge to beg—but for what? For him to come back? For him to save her from Ren? Begging was useless, even her frazzled mind knew that. Ren could move people and objects with his mind. He would do whatever he wished and there was nothing she or his second-in-command could do to stop him. It was best to appease him at all costs and escape with her life.

The lift doors closed and Ren’s attention now settled back on Mara. She ducked his searching gaze, eyes glued to the floor in a submissive gesture, feeling like a piece of meat in his X-ray vision. Exposed and raw and lying in a lair of starving bloodwolves. 

“Your General seems to think you’re delicate,” Ren observed, full lips pulling into a grin that only hinted at the menace beneath it. “I wonder if he’s right?”

If Hux truly thought her delicate, he wouldn’t have subjected her to the hazards of his dealings or, more accurately, the _people_ he dealt with. And while working inside the First Order had always been perilous, peril had never felt more close at hand than here, now, alone with Kylo Ren and his servants and his mind games.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Her eyes swept upward, finally meeting those dark orbs, glinting in danger and near drunk on her fear.

“Come closer.”

Ren could use the Force to make her comply, she knew, but he must derive some sick pleasure in watching her mind reel, feeling her body hesitate until it eventually betrays her in a single step. No mind tricks required. 

And betray her it did. Her traitorous footfalls bringing her to the very bottom of Ren’s dias as his Knights’ heavy gazes fell on her shoulders, pressing down on her even then.

“Closer,” Ren hissed. He looked down his aquiline nose and she took a deep breath, one foot following the other, unsure of just how _close_ was close enough.

Mara found the answer atop the throne’s landing where he reached out, wrapping his giant paw around her’s. It swallowed her fingers entirely as he pulled her forward, positioning her astride his massive thigh. She blushed at the intimacy of it and though his follower’s helmets reflected blank obscurity, she felt their collective gaze narrowing as if they edged closer without physically moving. 

“They don’t bite,” Ren supplied, perhaps reading her thoughts. “—unless I tell them to.” 

A few Knights chuckled at that, their laughs ringing in a mechanized chorus that sent chills cascading through her. 

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” he hissed, words winding around her head, breath gently caressing the shell of her ear. 

“No, sir,” she answered truthfully. 

His gloved fingers grasped her chin, turning it to the side as if to examine her profile and her gaze traveled to the corner of her eye, trying to decipher his arcane mood. 

“You must have some inkling,” he purred.

Of course Mara had _some_ inkling. Like all things indirectly related to her, this was about Hux. Maybe he harbored some faint attraction to her, but it surely lay in a deep hatred for his rival. He would do anything to anger or embarrass the General and whatever Ren got out of doing it, it was a pleasure derived from hurting another. No matter what, it was _always_ about Hux.

“Maybe this will jog your memory.” Ren’s gloved palm snapped open, stretching out toward the darkened room. His fingers trembled, as if molecules moved around them and from the shadows something zipped into his waiting hand. It wasn’t until he raised it to her chest that she recognized the menacing, T-shaped implement.

With a thumb flick, the saber blazed to life, its scarlet blade popping and sizzling just inches from her face. He swiped it across her nose, its low hum wringing her body in a violent flinch. Her fingers dug into his knee, pushing herself back as he brought it closer. The heat of it recoiled her into the hard edges of his body and suddenly the warmth came from the inside out. He shifted her beneath him so she sat back in his lap, legs hooking her calves and craning her thighs open.

Her rear pressed his crotch in this new position and he vibrated with laughter, the sound of it jolting her as he turned the saber on tip’s end, its point dragging against the floor as it carved a smoking trench at their feet. The hilt faced upward in his hand, its pommel buzzing the inside of her thigh, rumbling her skin in a sensation that was not wholly unpleasant.

“I’ve asked you to spy for me...” The hilt drew closer, the mini blades of its cross guards branding her boot shafts.

“But you’ve yet to provide anything of substance.”

It drew closer, burning her skin and she winced, the heat of it blotting out any pleasure derived.

“He’s extremely guarded,” she cried, writhing against him in a desperate bid to stop the blades from scorching her calves. He rotated the hilt, the cross guards skimming her boots enough to slice the leather, leaving two burnt marks in their wake.

“And yet you’re closer than ever.”

The statement stopped her dead. 

“How did you—

“You think I can’t smell him on you?”

He raised the hilt, gently caressing its pommel against her clothed sex. Even through her trousers, the soft buzzing reached her clit, quickening her breath and reigniting the slickness Hux had initiated.

“When was the last time? A few hours ago?” He growled, pressing the hilt full on. She seized at the sensation, pushing backward in avoidance only to find his hardened bulge digging into her body’s cleft. His free hand snaked to her temple and even in the throes of an endorphic haze she knew what he intended.

“No!” She screamed but it reverberated like an echo, suddenly so far away as two leathered fingers touched her temple and the world went black.

As they raced through the last hours she heard snippets of conversations and flashes of her own memory, of the General in the throne room moments before and the lift before that. They both tumbled out of the darkness and into a room she recognized instantly from its gray, standard-issue furniture. The command shuttle’s quarters. 

It seemed Ren had found whatever he was seeking.

And then she saw it too. Her and Hux against the wall, hands frantically searching one another as he whispered a promise between lips sponging her throat.

She felt a presence tickling her subconscious and when she turned, it was Ren who stood beside her, a sly smile tagging his features, dark eyes sparkling as he ticked his head to the right, observing them with perverse delight. 

‘ _No one will ever touch what belongs to me.’_

What had felt passionate and thrilling now defiled and dirty by Ren’s voyeurism. But even with his presence, she couldn’t peel her eyes from the scene before them. Somehow viewing it from this angle, detached from herself, brought a wave of arousal that doused her body in flames anew at the memory of his lips searing her own. 

“What belongs to him— _hmm?_ ” The sound of Ren’s deep vibrato pulled her from the depths of her mind’s eye and into the present. She was back in the throne room, breathing hard now and her face grew hot at the engorged member twitching beneath her.

“Sounds like a challenge,” he said, a spark of laughter in that deep, silky voice as his free hand worked the upper clasps of her uniform. The other hand held his saber, tracing the outward V of her thighs, the vibrating hilt traveling from one side to the other and hitting every nerve in between. 

With breath hitched, Mara’s head angled back against his shoulder, lids closed in wanton desire. She had nearly surrendered to his ministrations until a tiny sound, like a rush of static perked her ears and her eyes popped open. The Knights stood closer now, eyes unseen surely scrutinizing every inch of her wrapped in Kylo’s claws. 

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmured into her hair, lush lips nudging her collar aside. “They’re just here for the show.”

 _The show?_ Her pulse thrummed and their shameless gazes brought an odd tremble in her chest. Before she could examine it further, Ren stopped his teasing, disengaging the saber and setting it aside. His free hands now tugged at the undershirt tucked into her trousers, fingers skimming the edges. His long digits dragged it over her ribcage, rucking it up to her chest, flaunting the fullness of her breasts that peeked out beneath pleated fabric. She felt him smile against her neck as he gave one last jerk, freeing her nipples, cold air kissing the tightened peaks as they bounced obscenely against her ribcage.

“Are you usually nude under your uniform?” Ren asked, low and throaty, the question unfurling like a wicked frond.

“No, sir,” she choked. 

The truth was that she simply forgot. Clean underwear was the very last thing on her mind while racing to the shuttle that morning. And she obviously hadn’t planned for _this._

“ _Luck,_ then,” Ren teased and her eyes shot to the floor, evading the observers’ hungry leers taking her in. “Now where were we?” He asked, peeling her jacket away and discarding it on the floor. His hands slithered to the snaps of her trousers, popping them open one by one before diving into her waistband, fingers tracing her plump, nether lips. “Oh yes, I promised my cum dripping down your legs,” added Ren, shifting beneath her. “And while I’m not usually someone’s sloppy second,” he sneered. “I’ll gladly make an exception for our dear General.” 

He lifted her above his lap, full strength on display and for a moment even she marveled at the effortlessness of it. But wonder soon slipped into woe as a wave of cold air licked her skin, trousers sliding down her hips and thighs from unseen hands. Her legs snapped closed, trying and failing to stop any further exposure, but the starched fabric crinkled around her knees in mere seconds.

When he lowered her back to his lap, her bare skin brushed his clothed thighs and her skin prickled at the naked cock wedging itself between her cheeks. She swallowed hotly. Where Hux had been long, Ren was broad and she squirmed at the thought of it ploughing into her quivering slit.

“It’ll fit,” Ren chuckled, rubbing the pulsing head at her slick entrance. Her eyes darted to the Knights now, the evidence of their own arousal announcing themselves in the ridges pressing their pants. It was then that she felt them, like she felt Ren. Their collective desire rose up in a delicious wave, pressing in around her and carrying her on a psychic high, wrapping her in an insuppressible need. It was electric and erotic and it made her skin itch in insatiable agony. Did Ren feel it too?

 _Yes,_ he replied between her ears rather than in them. 

Her thoughts were cut short by the moan tearing from her throat at Ren’s bucking hips and searching hands. He reached around her, cupping and kneading her breasts as his flushed head breached her walls and her body spasmed around him. He gave another thrust, unleashing a stinging cry from Mara who had yet to adjust to his girth, wet walls stuttering around the intrusion.

He hushed her then, hand clapping her mouth, a groan ringing in her ears. Her gasps flew through the gaps in his fingers, coming in stuttered spats, caught between crying and begging for more. Ren hissed at her needy sounds, his cock impaling her tight cavern in earnest, breath fanning the plains of her face. Her eyes rolled back, mouth running dry and lids fluttering at the heat rippling through her, and for once, not caring how debauched she must look as he pulled her shuddering down to the hilt.

She should be scared, terrified even, of how this might end. Any moment he could delve back into her mind. Drive deeper and further and find the very thing she most feared. Not to mention whatever happens if Hux finds out. _When_ Hux finds out, Mara corrected herself. Ren would make absolutely sure of it. But all that was suddenly pushed from her mind at the sight of his monstrous shaft stretching her pink, wet lips, pumping with abandon as he drove deep enough to hit her cervix, wiping her mind blank and throwing all inhibitions aside. 

At first it hurt, the pounding of his stiff flesh into her soft body, but now the pain feels good, like punishment. Like the punishment Hux loves to exact on her and the thought of him now is driving her wild. She wishes it was he who watched her, not Kylo’s servants. Because she wants to punish him too, she realizes. For making her feel this way. For making her a pawn in all his wicked games. For making her want him so badly. 

_“STOP!”_ Ren growls, serving as confirmation that he read her thoughts, or that she had been projecting them.

He quickens the pace, as if to punish her for even thinking of Hux, fingers digging into her pelvis, grinding her down while he thrusts up, sinking her as deep as he can go. And she’s screaming now, the pleasure too much as she cresting on a high that feels like it will never end. No thoughts spared for Hux or Ren or their squabbles or anything that isn’t the searing pleasure threatening to consume anything and everything in its path. 

Her eyes screw tight, riding it out, the squelching of their slick bodies ringing through the room as Ren makes good on his promise, hips bucking until his cum spills from the seam of their coupling. And in that moment it feels cathartic, being fucked to a senseless climax until the last tremors of pleasure trickle through her body. She’s falling from an intense high violently cut short by the shooting pain at her shoulder. A sharp yelp escaped her and she instinctively touched her shoulder, horror overtaking her as her fingers traced the perforated arch along her skin. Teeth marks.

Ren laughed, but the klaxons bleating denial in Mara’s ears blocked it out.

_No. No. No. No. No._

_NO!_

She was spiraling now, brain skipping straight from pain to remediation. Hux couldn’t see this. He could _never_ see this. She would cover it. With a bandage or makeup, though she doubted all the makeup in the galaxy would hide the bruising from a bite like that.

“Vicrul,” Ren’s voice snapped her from the unraveling terror, “Ensure Officer Tallion makes it back to her quarters,” he ordered before casually adding “ _unmolested.”_

The word snagged on her subconscious as the one called Vicrul, a lumbering beast of a man, ascended the steps, light refracting on a mask of silver inlay checks covering his face and a scythe resting on his shoulder. 

Mara rushed to grab her jacket, sliding it over her arms and buttoning her trousers in record time, suddenly wishing she could teleport to her quarters. She didn’t wait for Vicrul to collect her before sprinting down the dias steps, Ren’s voice at her back once she reached the bottom.

“Until Zeltros,” he drawled, the reminder chilling her to the bone. 

_Zeltros._

It was like twisting the knife in her back and she shuddered at the thought of them all together in close quarters. 

She would deal with it later, she thought, reaching for the lift button before a giant gauntlet cut her off, pressing the button before she could. Her gaze flicked to the silent golem, wondering if the Supreme Leader intimidated them into complete obedience. She _hoped_ he did, anyway.

The lift opened, but it wasn’t empty. 

General Hux’s most loyal Lieutenant stood inside, as if he only existed to await her and Mara wondered how long he had been there.

“What are you—

“The General sent me to escort you,” Mitaka answered, eyes fearfully darting to the man towering two full heads over her shoulder.

“She already has one,” Vicrul said, speaking for the first time, his voice sounding as deep and modulated as his leader. 

Mitaka cut his eyes at the Knight but ultimately ignored him as the lift descended.

“What _happened_ to you?” He suddenly took in her state of dress, eyes ping ponging to her unbuttoned jacket, reddened face and wisps of hair falling from her regulation up-do.

“I’m alright,” Mara hastily replied, hoping it was convincing enough to shut him up.

“Did he harm you?”

Apparently not.

“She’s fine.” The smile in Vicrul’s voice made her cringe.

“I don’t remember asking _you,_ ” Mitaka snapped and even Mara was surprised by the acidic tone from the usually docile Lieutenant. 

A click and Vicrul is unsnapping his scythe.

“Stop!” Mara screamed, pushing Mitaka up against the lift wall. She can hear him huffing in her ear as he attempts to push her arm down, not one to be threatened by Ren’s mongrel.

The lift dings, signaling their stop and she wished she could just leave them both there. But she doesn’t. She wordlessly exits the lift with both of them bracketing her like mismatched bookends.

They arrive at her door and Vicrul thankfully takes his leave, but Mitaka is harder to dismiss. He offers to file a report at least five more times if anything unprofessional happened and while Mara appreciates the sentiment, her inner self can only nod her head at the thought of it.

Poor Mitaka. He really had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all my Hux lovers here. Had to sprinkle in a little Ren for fun. 😉 Next few chapters will be a bit more plot heavy.
> 
> Also, I know this took muuuuuch longer than my normal updates but definitely got caught up in the end of year rush to wrap up work projects before going on vacation. Good news is that I now have lots of writing time while I’m off through the new year, so hoping to get back on track here.
> 
> Finally, I hope you all are doing well and get everything you hope for this holiday season. I am very grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, subscribe, kudo, comment and bookmark. You have all been a wonderful light in a challenging year.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren, Hux and Mara touch down on Zeltros and despite the tropical locale, the atmosphere is a little icy.

XVII.

“Zeltros, huh?” Le Hivre cracked a smile, sinking into their shared booth in the officer’s lounge, looking more at ease than Mara had seen him in a while. Then again, three Bespin Breezes in a row would make anyone with a stout liver at ease and anyone else nearly catatonic.

“I’m not even fluent in Zeltron,” Mara admitted, watching the ice melt in her glass. “But my Zabraki’s passable—and I’ve heard it’s similar.”

Le Hivre gave a sloppy, dismissive wave as another Bespin Breeze appeared as if on cue. 

“Most of them speak Basic anyway. And even if they’re not speaking it, they know it,” he assured her, swiping the drink from the server droid’s tray and sipping it without missing a beat. “Too much tourism for a native language to remain dominant. But they might speak Zeltron on the side, in which case it'd be quite useful.”

Mara took a swig of her own drink, her other hand subconsciously touching the tender skin “marked” by Ren. It still stung, even days later, but it seemed the memory of it haunted her far more than the wound itself. 

She hadn’t seen Hux since then and couldn’t help but replay their last moments together. The way he looked: brow knitted and eyes like open doors to a hidden worry revealed in an instant. And of all the things said and done that day, this was the part she thought of most often, wondering what it all meant. 

She looked back at Le Hivre wistfully, a head full of questions without answers. If only she could be that carelessly drunk right now. But she knew better than to follow his lead. Drinking was dangerous with this much on her mind and even Le Hivre couldn’t know the depths to which she had sunk. Hux and Ren were her own problem now. 

And with that thought swirling her mind, she tipped back the glass, draining it completely before signaling another round.

“Ever been to Zeltros?” His eyebrows raised with the question, the slope of it hinting at some unspoken amusement.

“Resort worlds weren’t part of our usual crop route.” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her own father, plain spoken and homespun, setting foot in any place as purportedly fancy as Zeltros.

“You’re in for a real treat then,” Le Hivre grinned, eyes sparkling in genuine delight. 

“It’s not a holiday,” Mara snorted, nodding to the droid who brought her another Sonic Screwdriver. 

“Doesn’t matter. It’s Zeltros. Even business feels like a holiday.”

“It’s for this campaign. Hux wants their support for Coruscant.”

“That explains the royals in your list, then,” he observed, thoughtfully rubbing his knuckles against day-old scruff. _Must be on leave,_ Mara thought, as on-duty protocol didn’t allow for unkempt facial hair. “Seems risky though...” 

“Why?”

“Zeltros is a Republic stronghold,” Le Hivre answered simply. “ _Has_ been for a long time and they’ve enjoyed a lot of influence with the status quo. We’d have to offer something major for any support there.”

“I wonder what he’s thinking?”

Le Hivre shrugged, his silvery eyebrows rising up to meet his hairline. 

“No clue. But more importantly, once the cat’s out of the bag, Hux can’t walk out of there without them. They’ll just alert the Resistance or whatever allies the Republic remnant has.”

“And dash any hopes of a surprise,” added Mara, now realizing how much was at stake here. It made sense then why he’d even offer to include Ren in such an important negotiation. Hux was pulling out all the stops because failure wasn’t an option. 

“He must think it’s worth the risk.”

“He doesn’t really have a choice,” Le Hivre added matter-of-factly, lips pursed. “He can’t pull this off without them. I know it’s hard to imagine with their penchant for relentless leisure,” he rolled his eyes at that. “But they’re a powerhouse on Coruscant. Too much money tied up in their enterprises there.”

“Luxury travel? I wouldn't think—

“It’s nothing to do with the planet,” he quickly corrected. “Though it is where the elite go on vacation, that’s not even how they make their _real_ money.”

Mara raised an eyebrow at that, entreating him to continue. But he didn’t answer and instead opened the inner flap of his jacket, retrieving the tiny, plastic container she had seen once before and flicked it on the table in front of her.

“ _This_ is how they make their money.”

It landed with a rattle, the capsules bouncing in their compartments like hollow bells.

“Sleeping pills?”

“Not _just_ sleeping pills. The whole biopharmaceutical industry. They basically have a monopoly on it.”

“How?”

“Think about it. What do you know about Zeltrons?”

“Not much, honestly,” Mara replied, stirring her drink with a cocktail straw and watching it swirl beneath her fingers. “They’re near-human and can sense feelings or something?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that,” he urged, leaning toward her, eyes gleaming in the low light, alcohol lacing his breath. “They don't just sense them, they can manipulate them too. And not only feelings but all kinds of biological responses.”

“So _they’re_ the ingredient in their own drugs?” She leveled the accusation, half in jest and the other half in disbelief. 

“Parts of them, yes. They extract parts of their own DNA and then synthesize it. And I’m not talking about just a few, I mean almost every drug on the white _and_ black market. It all comes from the same place.”

“And let me guess,” Mara shrugged, tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “One of those places is a giant manufacturing lab or distribution center or something on Coruscant?”

“Bingo.”

**. . .**

When the morning came for Mara to report to docking bay 221, her body was in a state of revolt. She slept little the night before and her nerves were visibly shot as she gathered up her small luggage bag and First Order cap. 

This would not be a simple day trip like Nal Hutta or Scipio. As she learned in background research, Zeltrons observed notoriously elaborate customs and the official itinerary sent by their hosts confirmed as much. She could only imagine the General’s dismay while scrolling the list of nearly ad infinitum receptions, banquets and cocktail hours, looking more like a personal hell for someone who famously despised small talk. 

So at least she had that to look forward to. Days of entertaining Zeltronian royals while walking a tightrope between two men who couldn’t decide if they wanted to work together or wring each other’s necks. _So long as they’re not wringing_ your _neck..._

Mara reached for the release, but then paused inexplicably. With eyes closed, she relished these last few moments of true safety, inhaling until her lungs filled with air before exhaling again very slowly.

 _You can do this,_ she thought, gripping her bag’s strap until her fingers stung. _You have to do this._ She pounded the release now, determination filling every step, even as they brought her to the very source of her anxiety. 

When she reached the assigned docking bay, the ceremonial detail had already convened. Stormtroopers stood impossibly still, their assembly five rows deep, but no Hux or Ren in sight. And what a sight it was. She was accustomed to over-the-top shows of pageantry for General Hux but the addition of Supreme Leader Ren no doubt lent a greater air of importance and so the number of troops increased thus.

Mara passed through the detail unnoticed. Her pitch black uniform marked her as a petty officer and therefore unworthy of anyone’s notice. That is of course until she crossed the path of one such General standing by the shuttle ramp, regarding her with a knowing sneer and eyes slicing like vibroblades. 

General Pryde. 

Must be still sore about her comment. 

Their eyes met briefly and she felt suddenly grateful for her proximity to the two most powerful men in the Order. Rather than shrink under his gaze, she defiantly stared him down and his glower only deepened. A small win in her own book.

She had passed through the shuttle’s threshold when a great clatter rose up behind her. It was the clap of betaplast joints snapping in sharp salutes. She checked her chrono. Zero nine hundred on the dot. It had to be General Hux.

Mara occupied an empty seat toward the back, leaving the forward command chairs for her superiors in hopes of keeping a low profile. She stowed her bag and flipped on her datapad, preferring to appear busy when the General arrived. It was only a few moments more until his imposing silhouette framed the shuttle door and she too snapped to attention, her eyes not daring to meet him and unsure of how to pick up where they left off.

“At ease,” he muttered, taking his command chair and immediately engaging his own datapad. The air between them was suffocating. Had Ren said anything? Or worse _, shown_ him anything? _Oh gods._ She wouldn’t put it past him.

Mara wished she could say something, but his cold facade discouraged any words and she instead wallowed in silent anguish over being ignored.

He checked his own chrono, audibly shrugging and it took very little to work out why. 

“If we’re delayed because—

Ren’s boots clattering against the shuttle ramp cut his complaint and they both stood up to show deference to their leader, regardless of how much it personally pained Hux. 

The hatch opened and Ren’s enormous body blocked the hangar lights until the cabin dimmed like a total eclipse. His black robes swept the shuttle, full lips twisting in a sly, suppressed smile. She bit her lip at the memories flooding from his presence. The throne, the Knights, his lap, the heat, pulsing and trembling as he bucks up into her. Her uniform feels suddenly scratchy and stiflingly hot. 

“General,” he nodded tersely before turning to Mara. “Officer Tallion.” 

It rolled off his tongue in a subtly suggestive way and Mara ducked his gaze, knowing he saw what flitted through her subconscious. If Hux caught the exchange, he chose to ignore it and instead vollied orders at Captain Tovar in an irritated clip. 

The rest of their journey to Zeltros proved less eventful, to Mara’s relief. Hux continued ignoring them both and she kept her nose in her datapad, delving ever deeper into Zeltronian history. Ren however, remained unoccupied, or at least _looked_ that way, staring blankly out of his viewport. 

_How is he not bored?_ Mara wondered. Maybe he was meditating. Or doing some Force thing. Or reading her mind, she suddenly feared.

 _Stop projecting if you don't want it read,_ he answered, his deep tenor rattling around her head. 

Her eyes widened, flicking to Ren who sat perfectly still, face placid as if he hadn’t just spoken telepathically. He finally spared a sideward glance, dark pupils finding her from the corner of his eye. Her own stare darted, gaze glued to her datapad until the planet she had read so much about swirled beneath them.

Even with tense company, Zeltros was infinitely preferable to Scipio or Nal Hutta. Rather than wading through fog or shivering in the bitter cold, they stepped out onto a landing pad bordered by palm trees, their feathery fronds whiffling in the breeze. It was humid, but that was a small price for paradise. 

The colors of Zeltros were near violent. A brilliant blue sky met white shores lapped by jade waters, the gentle waves rising and falling, folding and rolling in a hypnotic dance of sand and sea. It mesmerized her, watching the tide come and go, taking with it so much of the stress coiling in her body already. She turned to her companions, finding Hux miserable by contrast and Ren’s mood inscrutable as usual. 

The whistle of a landspeeder zipped on the breeze and when she looked up it was already wheeling toward them. It skidded to a stop and a woman more beautiful than Mara had ever seen stepped out. She was tall and lithe and walked with a melody in her stride, rosy skin criss-crossed in a bodice of gossamer blue, gathered straps threaded through a silver ring pressed beneath her clavicle. Her gown rippled in the wind as she approached and Mara suddenly wished she wasn’t wearing a bland uniform. 

“Welcome to Zeltros,” came a low, silky voice, rising and falling like the gentle waves behind them. She approached Mara first, taking her small hands and clasping them in two elegant, pink palms. And while it would have seemed like a snub of Ren or Hux, it was their matriarchal society that dictated Mara be addressed before her superiors.

“My name is Valeen,” she purred, her serene smile instantly putting Mara at ease. “I’m the Viceroy of Zeltros. Queen Endra sends her regrets for not greeting you personally, but I promise to take great care of you in her stead. Let’s escape this heat, shall we?” she said, gesturing to her speeder.

Captain Tovar loaded the trunk with their luggage as Hux and Mara took the back seats while Ren joined Valeen up front. The short trip to the palace was awkward despite the Viceroy’s easy charisma and Mara knew her Zeltronian senses sniffed out their tense feelings. And while it may have cowed anyone else, it seemed to only encourage her affability as they turned down a palm-lined path. 

“Though I know you’re on business, I hope you’ll find time to enjoy yourselves here,” she said with a playful wink in her voice. “Zeltros does have its _charms_ afterall and there’s usually something for everyone.”

Mara opened her mouth to offer some banal remark, expecting no help from the other two who seemed content on her carrying the full burden of etiquette. 

“We’ll certainly try,” Hux spoke up to her surprise, tone bordering airy. It was odd, though it wasn’t his voice that surprised her most of all. It was the hand slithering across the empty seat between them, secretly caressing her wrist. She turned to look at the General but he didn’t return it, staring idly at the passing fauna instead. 

_Fine,_ Mara sneered looking out to watch the palace rising up from the road. It was a massive structure designed in perfect symmetry with a central niche dominating a facade framed in sloping gables, two towers capping each side. Just looking at it now brought a pang of nostalgia. As a young girl she would have done anything to visit a glamorous palace over the mundane farms she usually traveled to. She glanced at the gloved hand still stroking her own. Her childhood dreams could have never imagined these circumstances.

When they arrived at the palace portico, Hux lazily pulled away and exited the speeder as if nothing happened. So was he angry or not? The conflicting signals left her as uncertain as ever. She almost preferred the strict, terrifying Hux. The rules were much more simple regardless: just stay out of his way.

She shrugged, joining him on the entrance steps where servants whisked away their luggage and Valeen led them into a lavish receiving hall. As they stood there, admiring the polished columns and decorative casts, Mara couldn’t help but catch Ren in her periphery, wondering if any of it echoed what might have been. 

He was the Prince of Alderaan, even if he denied the title. And despite his rough edges, he possessed an unexpected grace, as if it were born to him. She saw it in the way he swung a saber, muscles twisting and turning, blade gliding in strong, fluid motions, the bulk of his frame belying a natural finesse. She wondered if the poise with which he sliced through his enemies would have similarly swept young debutantes across a dance floor. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The Viceroy’s soothing register fluttered through her thoughts, bouncing off the high, barreled ceilings as she led them up a grand staircase. “It actually had to be restored. Just imagine how it looked before...”

“Before the Tofs?” Mara clarified.

Valeen froze mid-step, fear bolting through Mara. The Zeltron’s brows knitted together in disbelief. And then broke into a smile. “Yes, that’s right,” she replied, gaze softening in pleasant surprise. 

Mara had to bite back a triumphant grin. Even Hux looked pleased as they followed their host through an open air colonnade that overlooked gardens below. 

“And this wing,” she said, eyes smiling over her shoulder as she reached for two ancient double doors, “is your suite of rooms.” 

Valeen opened them by hand and the common area revealed took Mara’s breath away. It looked large enough to house an X-Wing with room to spare. That is, if it weren’t for the enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling, its crystalline tiers brilliantly sparkling in the afternoon light. Beneath it sat two plush sofas facing one another and across from them an odd piece of furniture that Mara had never seen before. It had a long cushion for lounging, an arm on one side but no back. What was it called? A fainting couch?

A small breeze blew through the room, drawing attention to an arch spanning the common area. It was lined with sheer curtains that ruffled in the wind and Mara could see a giant, open balcony stretching behind them. She mentally bookmarked this area for a later return.

“You have three separate rooms, all with ensuite refreshers,” she pointed to three doors, two on one side of the common room and one on the opposite end. “You two are on the left and Supreme Leader Ren’s room is on the right. Dinner is served at nineteen hundred, but if you’re feeling parched in the meantime,” she gestured to a wine cooler perched on a stand, “please enjoy our very own Zeltronian Spiced wine, courtesy of our Queen.” 

Valeen finished with a polite grin, kind eyes sparkling as she dipped in a slight curtsey before gliding away. In her absence, it was as if a storm cloud rolled over them and the air turned awkward once more. Ren, who said practically nothing the entire trip, swept his dark gaze across Mara and Hux.

“Until dinner,” he muttered before retreating to his room. The General’s shrewd study followed Ren, only dropping when the door shut behind him. 

Mara was now alone with Hux and all his contradictions and it made her wish she could excuse herself as unceremoniously as Ren had. Instead she took a deep breath, eyes searching the room for anything to look at that wasn’t her superior.

“See you at dinner,” he breathed, dipping his head and turning sharply toward his own room, leaving Mara to stand in the commons alone. She looked between the two doors where both men had disappeared and shrugged loudly, suppressing the need to scream out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I leave you...for now. I've been writing a lot over this end of year break and have already written sections of the follow up but decided this was the most natural stopping point. The next chapter should kick off some of the more exciting bits but I felt it important to spend time setting up the premise and environment. There are many things mentioned here that will be important later when things begin to simmer. 😉
> 
> And finally, have a happy, magical, wonderful New Year. I hope it’s full or joy and optimism for everything to come. See you again soon!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mara gets a message. Hux and Ren measure their dicks. A little steamy but nothing too explicit this time around.

XIX.

Mara escaped to her own room, relieved to be alone and delighted to find it as opulent as the common room. She had never known true luxury, not on Brolsam or Trigalis and certainly not in the Resistance. And for a moment she marveled at it, running her hand across the duvet of a giant four poster bed, its fine silk sliding beneath her fingertips. At its head, four pillows sat propped up in two rows where a card lay tented atop them. She picked it up and on closer inspection found her name written in an elegant, looping script. 

_Welcome to Zeltros. My staff are committed to making your stay here pleasant and I hope your accommodations are to your liking. Distinguished guests are treated as one of our own and I would be honored to have you don the traditional attire provided if it pleases you. Attendants will be sent to help you dress for dinner should you need them. I look forward to meeting you._

_Warm regards,_

_Endra_

While the note was decidedly polite, it was deceptively so. Mara knew a subtle directive when she saw one. Queen Endra preferred her to wear whatever attire hung in her wardrobe and as long as it breathed more than her itchy, sweaty uniform, she wasn’t one to complain.

Her thoughts drifted to Valeen’s dress and it sent her racing across the room to a wardrobe in the far corner. She flung open its double doors, the inner compartment lined in pastel gowns of shimmersilk and organza. She sighed, plucking a few from their hangers and spread them out on the duvet. She was admiring them when a knock rang out behind her, nearly startling her. The attendants.

Mara rolled her eyes. She needn’t anyone to “help her dress,” but sending them away would cause offense, so she begrudgingly let them in. Like all Zeltrons, they were tall, beautiful and two different shades of petal pink. They introduced themselves as Durra and Zorick and wasted no time sitting her at a vanity before unpacking more cases of makeup and hair products than she had ever seen in her entire life. 

An hour later Mara carefully regarded a woman she barely recognized. She had always taken care of herself and even wore light makeup at times but never put much effort into her looks simply because she never lived anywhere that it mattered. But all of that changed. Zeltros _was_ a place where it mattered and there she sat admiring the way Zorick swept her hair to the side, loose curls accented by a jeweled clasp while Durra fastened her evening gown, a pale blue frock with a deep V bodice and an open back. 

“Is everything this...revealing?” Mara asked, eyes traveling from her exposed collarbones down to the soft, inner curves of her breasts on full display. The women giggled and Mara blushed at how prudish she must sound to them. Her mouth fell open to explain, to assure them that she was not embarrassed though that’s exactly what she was.

“All of our clothes are like this,” Durra replied, tone not at all hinting at the judgement Mara feared. “A woman’s body is nothing to hide. It should be celebrated in all its forms.”

Mara eyed the winsome bodies of her attendants. If she looked like either of them there would be much to celebrate. But as it stood, she was not a statuesque Zeltron, just a woman pretending for a little while. Pretending in so many ways and for so long that she wasn’t sure for whom she pretended anymore. She tried to hide the frown tugging at her painted lips in case they mistook it for dissatisfaction with their work.

The attendants gathered up their supplies, thanking Mara individually. The taller woman, Zorick, smiled, clasping her hands as Valeen had done before excusing herself. Durra did the same, bending down as she took Mara’s hands and whispered something so softly that it took a moment to register them as words at all.

“Your friend, the pilot, is looking for you,” her honey-colored eyes bore into Mara’s and the time passing between them felt like an age. “Twenty-three hundred hours. In the gardens.”

“The pilot?” Mara repeated, blood rushing in her ears and even as the words left her lips they seemed to echo around her head.

The pilot. 

There was only _one_ pilot.

But it couldn’t be. How would he have known? And why _here_? And was _she_ Resistance too?

“What pilot?” she breathed, insistent this time, spinning around to find her gone. The Zeltron had left as abruptly as she came and Mara was alone again. 

But it wasn’t for long. Another knock rang out. A steady, practiced knock of a steady, practiced man. 

It came again, quicker this time and she jumped, crossing the room, thoughts racing as she reached for the lever. The door swung open. Her eyes shot to the floor where two polished boots breached the threshold. A beat of silence passed. Then a rushed inhale and in a single stride Hux was in her room, slamming the door shut, the motion swift and snapping her gaze to his still countenance. What she found made her shiver with want. It was the look of a man famished, eyelids fluttering as they mapped her body, lingering on the hollow of her throat, her collar bones and finally the swell of her breasts in a scorching trail from head to toe.

“Damn Zeltrons,” he shuddered, tone testy and hands frantically smoothing her sides as if his self-control danced on a fraying thread.

“I’ll change. I’ll wear my uniform,” Mara offered, overwhelmed by the heat in his stare and suddenly very glad the V neck covered her marked shoulder. 

“No!” he snapped and then breathed a calmer tone, hand tilting her chin toward him. “It will only offend our host,” he added, voice dropping in a way that suggested etiquette was the least of his motives. 

“Or I can find another dress if it’s...if it embarrasses you. I’m sure there’s—

“Don’t be silly,” he countered, his breath shallow as he pulled her in his arms. “You look ravishing. And you know it.”

Mara squeaked at the sound of his quick breaths, gloves skimming her thighs and dragging her skirts up with them. He stopped at her ass, eyes burning and fingers sinking into the soft flesh there. 

“We should go,” she said in a raspy groan, gaze lingering on his parted lips, longing for the feel of them on her skin and knowing she shouldn’t.

He swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet the seam of his mouth and arms encircling her as if she might slip away. She’s panting now as he sweeps her up in a kiss, the ferocity of it leaving her breathlessly gasping into him. It spurs him on and he presses down, harder, hand twisting in her hair and it’s all she can do not to beg. His lips burn white hot like a supernova and she’s melting into him until he finds restraint, breaking their heated seal in a strangled breath. 

Mara lets out a wanton moan, chasing him until he’s up against the door and now she’s the one testing his discretion. 

“A moment longer and I’ll lock this door,” he purred against her lips, hand on the lever.

She reeled back, a smirk pulling her swollen lips. “Don’t get distracted.” 

“With _you_ ,” he sighed, peering down his nose at her, brow arched in subtle amusement, “that’s an impossible task.” 

They both breathed deeply, knowing this could go nowhere for now and Hux pushed down on the lever, releasing her bedroom door with a resounding _click._

She walked out, cheeks burning against the cool breeze sweeping the common area, a smile ghosting her lips. Her eyes searched the room and she stopped dead, heart dropping at the figure sitting there, staring at her in the very center of it.

It was Kylo Ren, looking less the Prince of Alderaan and more the Empire’s heir apparent, lounging in a black doublet trimmed in silver chord, a row of polished buttons stretching from collar to cuff. A one-shouldered cape lay draped beneath a leather pauldron, cinched and belted across his chest, the black stripe emphasizing his broad frame and reminding anyone who looked upon him that he was a fighter long before he led the First Order.

“We’re expected any moment,” Hux cut in abruptly and she wondered if Ren read his thoughts or just the slight flush of his face.

“Then lead the way, General,” said Ren, lowering the ancient papered book he held, eyes sliding over them in a knowing look as they left their suite behind. 

They all walked in tense silence, trailing out onto the colonnade by the time Mara finally worked up the courage to speak.

“Sir, there’s a few things you should know going into this meeting,” she said, picking up her skirts to catch their long strides.

“Such as…?” Hux inquired.

“Such as the nature of Zeltrons. They’re rather…” Mara paused, looking for the right phrase, “—high touch.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“They value relationships. The Queen will expect us to wine and dine before a proposal is even considered.” 

“Very well then,” Hux sighed, voiced laced in annoyance.

“But if we see an opening, we can take it. Just don’t press if she seems resistant. And definitely don’t lead with it. We have a few days here to build a case and the last thing we want is to look desperate.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for you Hux,” Ren taunted.

“Only a problem if you insist on speaking,” Hux rejoined.

Mara rolled her eyes, fighting the shrug tempting her throat. Was the entire mission going to be like this?

They finally reached the grand staircase and General Hux began his descent.

“Wait!” Mara reached out, fingers skimming his wrist. Hux looked up, eyes flashing at the transgression and her own gaze dropped to the floor, hand snapping back to her side. 

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s just—it’s customary to be announced.”

Even Hux who enjoyed a degree of formality inherent to military life seemed vexed by this useless ritual, but nevertheless, he retraced his steps and took his place on the other side of Mara. The double doors below them opened up and as expected, their names were read out by an attending doorman. 

Mara stepped forward, freezing at the brush of fabric against her shoulder. She looked up to find Ren, mouth pressed in a wry smile and arm held out in a surprisingly gentle offer. Her heart jumped, head hastening her to accept it out of fear. Hux no doubt fumed beside her, but she reached up anyway, hand slipping in the crook of his arm. Her fingers grazed his bicep and she quivered at the memory of it wrapped around her neck. 

The three of them walked together, taking each step at a time until they reached the bottom. They hovered there for a moment, the hair rising on Mara’s skin at the gloved finger sliding down her naked spine, tip tracing every ridge from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. She shivered, eyes darting to Hux who only spared her a passing glance before pressing his full hand to her back, the feathery touch igniting her core.

She let out a shaky breath and they stepped into the dining hall, its formal table bringing a different kind of unease. At least as Hux’s pet on Scipio so little was expected of her. She wasn’t even _allowed_ to sit at the table. But here was a different kind of trap, and she found herself once again cursing her rustic upbringing. 

Ren and Hux took their places with Mara following suit and another attendant hurried forward to pull her chair out. Her anxious inner ramblings were promptly silenced by the doorman who finally announced the Queen and a chorus of chairs scraped against the floor as they all stood.

In walked a woman like so many of the Zeltrons they encountered thus far; beautiful, serene and nearly ageless in a long flowing gown that trailed the floor. Though she resembled Valeen, Durra and Zorick with her lavender hair and rosy-pink skin, she possessed one very defining feature: a belly, heavily swollen with an expectant child.

“Thank you for waiting,” she trilled in heavily-accented basic, strolling to the head of the table and sitting at the chair pulled back by her attendant. “My apologies for missing your arrival but my condition can be a little…” she trailed off for a moment, hand caressing her stomach, “cumbersome,” she finished with a smile.

“No need to apologize,” Mara replied, feeling compelled to say something. “When are you due?”

Her eyes lit up and Mara instantly recognized her implicit role in this whole affair. She was the resident female, resigned to carry these mundane conversations that would have surely left Hux and Ren grasping. 

“About a month now,” she answered as servants poured out from the doors behind her, carrying a parade of food. “We’re calling him Anzhel.”

“Is that a family name?” Hux asked, spearing a piece of plicto meat. 

Mara knew the question was meant to be trite and uninteresting. Nothing more than a harmless entry into the conversation but she knew it was none of those things to a Zeltron woman. He was treading in tenuous waters. 

“His father’s name, you mean?” A lavender eyebrow rose with the challenge, though it seemed strangely good-natured despite the charge.

“I assumed so,” the General admitted. 

Mara clenched her jaw. If only she had known _this_ topic would be on the menu...

“Perhaps you assume too much, General Hux.” 

“A distinct possibility,” Ren muttered into his goblet though it went thankfully unnoticed.

“But an understandable assumption to make,” Queen Endra added gracefully. “To answer your question, Anzhel’s name is no one’s but his own—besides, his father could be any one of my consorts and exactly which one matters little.”

Mara caught the flutter in Hux’s lids as he processed this last piece of information. How stunning it must sound to an Imperial son who likely endured a conservative upbringing as far as familial roles were concerned. And while the Order was fairly egalitarian, he could scarcely imagine a world where men were simply used for their seed and then cast aside so easily. 

“Interesting,” Ren commented, clearly amused by the thought of it.

“Is it, Leader Ren?” Queen Endra inquired, goblet raised to her lips as she spied him across the table. “And how does the First Order consider these matters?”

“We don’t,” Ren answered simply and Mara sensed Hux’s displeasure at the clipped response.

“You have no consort then?”

“My training leaves no time,” said Ren, taking a sip from his own goblet, dark eyes flicking across the table. “But perhaps General Hux will consider one,” he added, lips quirking and meeting his rival’s furrowed brow. “...when we claim Coruscant and he’s crowned Emperor?”

The room froze, Hux’s fork and knife teetering in mid-air, Queen Endra’s face drawing blank as Ren sat back, perfectly at ease in the quiet chaos he had wrought.

“With your support, of course,” Mara finally cut in, anxiously searching for some way to diffuse the fallout. 

But the Queen did not respond immediately. She remained quiet a beat longer and in those moments of pure silence Mara could feel her own heart slamming against her chest.

“My support is contingent on what Zeltros stands to gain from your Emperorship,” she turned sharply to Hux and despite his carefully controlled facade, Mara knew he was positively seething on the inside. 

“Much, I assure you,” Hux answered, mirroring her look of surprise. “I look forward to discussing it with you in the duration of our stay,” he added, eyes now boring holes into Ren.

“Let us hope it’s convincing.” She gave another smile, but it was so unlike the ones that came before it, lips tight and mouth tense and filling Mara with subtle unease. 

**. . .**

When they arrived back in their shared quarters, Hux was, in a word, ballistic. He fell eerily quiet as they made their way through the palace, stiff movements signaling bottled rage and as soon as their suite doors closed, he rounded on Ren with all the ferocity of a rathtar.

“Do you _want_ this to fail?” he barked, pacing the room while their Supreme Leader propped his feet up on the fainting couch.

“As surely as you do,” Ren drolled, retrieving the papered book from earlier, calling it with the Force to his open hand.

“Then what part of ‘don’t lead with it’ did you not understand?”

“She said if we saw an opening—

“Don’t put this on Mara,” Hux snapped, her given name slipping from his mouth and eyes widening infinitesimally at the spark shooting Ren’s face. 

_“Mara,”_ the Knight purred with mocking levity, eyes flicking to her mischievously.

“Don’t.” Hux spat, stern expression warning him to consider his next words carefully.

“If I left it to you we’d still be talking around baby names and the Order’s family policies. Is that what you preferred?” Ren said flatly, opening the book in a signal of his keen disinterest.

“I _preferred_ to _persuade_ her instead of bluntly telegraphing everything!”

Hux crossed his arms, shaking his head and let out a huff of air before stalking out onto the balcony. Ren flipped a page and Mara checked her chrono.

“Somewhere you need to be, _Mara?_ ”

“No, sir,” she bristled, folding her arms, mirroring her superior and looking around the room wishing she had something to occupy her gaze. She looked over at the General instead who leaned on the balustrade in thought, likely planning a remediation strategy. Or all the ways he’d skewer Ren. Either was as likely as the other. 

“He’ll calm down,” Ren mumbled dismissively, eyes glued to the page he was presently reading. 

As Ren predicted, Hux did eventually cool off by the time he formally dismissed her for the night, but it couldn’t have come in a more sour tone, eyes shifting to Ren as he vowed to continue this “discussion” tomorrow. And while Mara agreed this first meeting proved disastrous, it was nothing next to the anxiety eating away at her with each tick of the chrono toward twenty-three hundred.

She spent her own alone time frantically pacing her bedroom as Hux had done hours before. The thought of seeing Poe again, not as a floating voice on the bridge, but in flesh and blood, hands she could touch, a face she could see, filled her with competing hope and dread. A small part of her, a voice in the back of her mind, warned her against it. 

What if this was some kind of trap? _What if she’s another ‘Lyra’?_

Hux was cunning, that much was clear. But if he had ever sensed her duplicity, why drag her all the way to Zeltros? Wouldn’t it be easier to just throw her in the brig and be done with it? He had ample opportunity if that was the plan. It could be some elaborate charade for a much larger, more sinister purpose, but what if it wasn’t? She couldn’t bear the thought of Poe standing there alone, waiting for her and never knowing why she didn’t come. And she had to know. Was he alright? Was the Resistance still operating? And most important of all, she needed to warn them about this alliance. And Coruscant.

Even as she continued to waffle, deep down, her mind was made up. She would go. She just had to be smart about it. Wait for Poe to reveal himself first. If he didn’t show in the first fifteen minutes, she’d bail. Mara pulled on a simple T-shirt and slipped on her shoes, breathing a sense of calm. Now to find a way to the gardens without alerting Hux or Ren...

Perhaps the dramatic end to their night proved lucky because when she slowly opened her own door, the common area was empty. She breathed a sigh of relief and slipped out the main double doors, creeping along the colonnade and looking down on the gardens for any sign of movement. Only part of the yard was visible from her viewpoint as it stretched to the dark beyond, countless shrubs and topiaries casting shadows in the night.

Her heart pounded now, suddenly wondering if this was a terrible idea. Burying her doubts, she pressed on, finding a small door leading to a spiral staircase. It spit her out on the first floor and by the bottom step, she had already devised a cover story should anyone see her. She was going for a night stroll. Plain and simple.

Mara rounded the corner, looking for an external door and she finally found one at the end of a hall. A gust of wind ruffled her hair as she opened it. Cloaked in shadow, she pressed against the wall, following it and doubling back toward the gardens.

In minutes she was crossing the yard, taking cover behind a giant hedgerow and noticing how terribly bright it was under the full moon. Distant waves crashed, roaring in the dark. And then she heard something much closer. 

A snap. Like a twig breaking in half. Her gaze shot to her feet but she didn’t need to. She already knew it was someone else. 

It was Poe. _Hopefully._

Fear seized her chest. 

But if it _was_ Poe...wouldn’t he have called out?

The hedge rustled. Someone was behind her. She spun around, pulse thrumming, feet stumbling backward. Leaves shivered somewhere and she broke into a sprint, brush rippling as she raced back toward the palace. Whipping around the corner, her traction broke underfoot and she was speeding forward, falling, smashing into something or someone and suddenly her head flew back, the wind knocked from her lungs, the ground beneath her palms. Pain shot through her and she lay there, staring up at the stars, their light suddenly swallowed by a human silhouette.

“Woah, woah, _woah!”_ the shadow said. _“_ It’s okay. It’s me.” 

_Poe._

Relief surged through her entire body, escaping in a rush of air and a strangled cry. Wordlessly, she reached up, encircling her arms around him and they laid there on the wet grass, dew drops seeping into their clothes and clutching one another as if they might disappear.

Her eyes stung, voice scratchy as she tried to speak.

“How did you—

“Shhh,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her up from the ground. “Let’s get outta here.”

He led her down a path winding away from the gardens and into the blue dark, the palace lights fading in the near distance. It was like a strange dream. Or like everything before it had been a dream and this was the only real thing. This moment of following Poe’s shadow down a sandy trail, the fine grit shifting beneath their feet until they reached a grove of palms, their wide, spiked fronds blooming over them like open umbrellas, the sea and shore stretching before them. A pale moon sparkled on the water, its reflection beaming out in a column of white light.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she said, sinking down onto a piece of driftwood, not at all sure what to say now that they were together and somehow still questioning her own eyes. But there he was, looking like the day she left him on D’Qar, dashing and still so full of hope but changed. Somber, like she was.

“Me neither,” Poe answered with a shrug and plopped down next to her. “But I’m glad I did.” 

He slung his arm around her, pulling her into him and when her eyes met his in the silvery light, she knew she was home. They sat there together for a time that stretched seemingly without end, watching the tide climb the beach before sliding back into a watery abyss. 

“Are you alright?”

The question was so simple and the answer not at all. Her mind reeled, suddenly unsure. And in that moment, being held against him, she felt a sharp pang. It stung, and not just from her teeth clamping her lower lip, biting down until it hurt. It was a feeling of shame and self-loathing. And fear. She was afraid that he somehow knew the truth. That she was still loyal to the Resistance, her mind always would be, and yet her body courted treason. Like it was pulling her in, the dark undertow of the Order. 

“You don’t have to answer,” he added quickly, perhaps sensing her hesitant pause. 

“No, I just…I just wish I could explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“What it’s like,” she answered flatly, voice sounding so far away as if it hadn’t come from her own mouth. A darker voice echoed inside: _and_ _what you’ve done._

“You don’t _need_ to explain it,” he rebuffed, his body tensing under her, hand gently stroking her hair. “You don’t need to explain anything. To me—to anyone. Ever. Whatever it is. It doesn’t matter.” He went quiet then and Mara wished so desperately she could be as sure as him, hero of the Resistance. 

“We _all_ do things we don’t want to. That’s what war is.”

 _Not like this,_ she thought. 

And that was when she decided he could never know. She couldn’t bear the look in his eyes if he ever found out what she had given up. How she had given _in._ No matter what lies his lips told, he would always wonder if she liked it. Liked their lips on her. Liked their bodies on her. Liked how compromised she felt in their hands. And she would live without knowing the answer. But at least now she had something to show for it.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said finally. “I haven’t been able to send anything for weeks.”

“Yeah, the damn transmitters are still—

“Down, I know. But I can tell you now. _You_ —"she stabbed his chest with a pointed finger, “—just have to make sure you get it back to the Resistance.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he brushed off her concern. “What is it?”

“An invasion.” 

The words rushed forth and she saw them hit his open face, blinking in naked surprise. 

_“An inva_ —

“ _Yes,”_ she confirmed, voice hardened. “On Coruscant. That’s why we’re here. Hux and Ren are here too. Looking for support to ensure it all goes smoothly.”

Poe let out a low whistle. 

“Well that’s...something.”

“And I’m afraid they might do it.”

“Don’t be.” 

His surety jarred her, visibly flinching as she turned to him with a questioning stare. Even as cocky as Poe was, he couldn’t possibly know that.

“Why?”

His chin dipped, brown eyes sparkling from under a quirked brow, “Because Queen Endra’s _a friend_.”

“ _How_ good of a friend?”

“Good enough to lend us money and munitions.”

“Then why even entertain this visit?”

“Appearances,” Poe answered casually, standing up and brushing off his clothes. “Looks pretty suspicious to outright refuse, dontcha think? And while she’s over there pouring tea for the terrorists, I’m in the streets recruiting.”

She watched him squat down, running his bare hand along the ground as if looking for something. 

“Leia’s bringing out the poster boy, huh?” 

“Yep.” The word popped from his mouth as he plucked a shell from the sand, holding it up to study it. “And I knew you’d be here because our _friend_ warned us you were coming.”

He pulled back, slinging it out onto the water where it skipped the surface before sinking with a _plunk._ So much of the last few hours suddenly made sense.

“That girl—Durra—is she…?”

“Resistance? Nah,” he said, searching the ground again. “She’s just a friendly—for now. But I think I’m gettin’ close.”

“I bet you are,” Mara spared a reluctant grin, watching him toss another shell and remembering just how convincing he could be. 

“Hey, I snagged this real snarky clerk on Trigalis once,” he laughed, picking up another shell and placing it in her hand. “Turned out to be the best GC in the Resistance. Ever heard of her?”

“Yeah, whatever happened to her?” She played along but it came out more melancholy than playful. She looked down at the shell in her palm, rubbing its ridged surface.

“I don’t know. They say she went missing.” His tone softened, standing there in the moonlight, and her chest clenched at the earnest swell in his eyes. “I just know it’s been hard without her.”

Mara bit the inside of her mouth, face crumbling and suddenly unable to look at him. Instead her fist squeezed around the shell, turning and tossing it into the waves. Poe gripped her shoulder, spinning her around and his lips fell open in tender surprise. 

_“Stars,_ are you gonna cry _every time_?” He cracked a smile, voice hitching as he tried to cheer her. 

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, wiping the traitorous tear from her eye.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he whispered, pulling the bandana from his neck and offering it to her. “I’m proud of you. But you gotta be careful. Endra doesn’t know you’re Resistance so don’t go blowing your cover.”

“Oh thanks for the tip, Dameron,” she scoffed, but couldn’t suppress a wry smile as she wiped her eyes. “I was gonna announce it at the banquet tomorrow, but now that you mention it...” 

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right,” he laughed sheepishly, rubbing his brow like a bashful schoolboy, and for the first time, the mood lightened. “Don’t worry about your mission. Say whatever you have to—it won’t matter. It’s just a formality.”

Just a formality. At least Mara could relax a fraction knowing nothing she did here would actually _help_ the Order. But even without Zeltros, she was certain this wasn’t the end of it. Ren wanted Coruscant and Hux was more motivated than ever. It was just a matter of how difficult the Resistance could make it for them. Or delay it long enough for Leia to rally an army.

“C’mon, let’s get you back up to your castle,” he said with a bow, arm sweeping to the side. “M’lady.”

Mara gave him a playful push. He wobbled, just missing the ground. His laughter hung in the air as he rushed to catch up with her and the sound of it lifted her as they stalked up the path.

“Did they really say that?” she asked, earning an eyebrow raise from Poe. “That I went missing?”

“Oh,” his face fell. “Yeah. I mean, we had to say somethin’. It was pure chaos after Starkiller and then the evac...it seemed like the most believable thing.”

They stood back in the gardens now, hovering behind the hedgerow. They both sighed, giving each other one last, long hug and despite herself, her eyes pricked with tears again. _Why was this so hard?_

He leaned in, nose brushing her ear. “Good luck and don’t die.” As he stepped back, his figure retreated into the shadows and Mara found herself studying his face, as if trying to preserve the memory of it. “‘Cause I still owe ya.”

“Owe me what?” she asked his fading silhouette, watching him disappear into the night.

“A ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was going to have this done yesterday, but it was a bit of a wild one in my neck of the woods, so needless to say I was very distracted. 
> 
> Several things mentioned in this chapter will influence a lotttt of events in the next few chapters and I promise Ch. 20 will be pretty lemony as our characters start to...feel the effects of Zeltros. 😏


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The effects of Zeltros are felt in full force.

XX.

_A ride._

The words rang in her ears long after Poe said them, the refrain an echo from the past, viciously taunting her with the simplicity of old promises. And instead of filling her with nostalgia, it mired her in despair as she made for the palace entry. 

Along the wall was an unassuming door and she pushed it open, the clatter of cutlery and running water filtering out. What she found on the other side left her frozen. Several Zeltrons stood there, hands paused mid-chore at the strange woman standing in the doorway.

Wait. 

_This isn’t—where am I?_

She stood dumbstruck, eyes jumping to the aprons, gloves, dishes, stoves. All signs pointing to the palace kitchens.

“Sorry, I’m...lost,” she squeaked, head ducking and hurrying through the first door in sight. It emptied out into a corridor that she could only hope eventually led to the receiving hall. If she could just find that, she could find her way back, but the drab aesthetic surrounding her now suggested an informal part of the palace, perhaps a servants’ wing. 

Mara finally found a tiny, spiral staircase, much like the one she used earlier to move between floors. Grabbing the railing, she ascended them in a hurry, lungs huffing as she reached the top. It should be a short walk across the second floor to her rooms from here, she thought, hand on the door in front of her, thankful that the knob turned and not even considering until that very moment that it might be locked.

The door swung open, light flooding the darkened stairwell. A sharp musk pierced her nostrils. The scent was overpowering but not unwelcome, like stepping into a perfumed fog, the aroma flushing her nasal passage and mixing up her senses like a cyclone. Mara stumbled backward, steadying herself until the headrush passed and her eyes popped open in pure shock.

She was not in a corridor, but a private chamber. One that resembled their guest suite, but different in that a woman lay at the center, naked and sprawled out on a fainting couch, her head pushed against the upholstered arm, a laced dressing gown fallen around her, legs splayed and fingers grasping the hair of a man eagerly lapping her sex. She heaved beneath him, hips rolling up to drive him deeper into her folds. She let out a strangled moan, her left hand clawing at the head of another man Mara now saw latched to her nipple, sucking and pumping the swollen mound. 

They all froze, noticing her presence for the first time and she too was suddenly aware of herself, rooted to the spot, staring, processing nothing except the face turning to look at her which she recognized now as Queen Endra’s.

She sat up. Her consorts moved in unison, backing away while she reached for her robe, rising up in one fluid motion like a serpent uncoiled. Her expression was unreadable and Mara stepped back, brain stuttering at the approaching Zeltron.

“I-I-I didn’t...I’m…so—” 

But she lost her breath, stumbling against the door, hands clumsily grasping its frame. She turned to run but her muscles seemed to melt with each step, soft and syrupy in her bid for the stairs. A hand reached out, grabbing her’s in the dark. She whipped back around. It was Queen Endra, standing there in the doorway, her sensual silhouette framed in soft light, the robe hanging open from her naked, pregnant body as if nothing were more natural in the world.

“Don’t be frightened,” she cooed, stepping closer, thumb grazing Mara’s palm, the motion soothing her trembling hand, spreading out from there until it consumed her whole body and she fell into a sedated fugue. Her other hand cupped Mara’s face. It felt cool against her feverish skin as the Queen ushered her back inside. No consorts remained. Their retreat left no hint of their existence, save the heavy, pungent scent still hanging in the air. It brought with it a whirlwind of emotions flooding her body at once: fear, confusion, excitement and arousal, all wafting from her skin in a provocative cocktail.

“Here, sit down.” 

She guided Mara over to the couch, gently placing her on one end before perching herself opposite. The room spun and if it weren’t for the furniture beneath her, she might have fainted. Her nerves sizzled like live wires, raw and sparking intensely at the slightest touch.

Queen Endra’s searching eyes scanned her face and she leaned forward to stroke her forehead. With throat dry and eyes closed, Mara swallowed, relaxing at the smooth glide of the Zeltron’s fingertips, blood thrumming in her veins as it rushed to her clit. She could feel it pulsing against her panties, her body burning with embarrassment and confusion and an unbearable lust that left her longing for the first, intoxicating thrust of sex.

“What…” Mara’s lips found each other and she felt words form between them. “What’s happening?” Her own voice had a rippling quality as it reverberated in her own ears, like a garbled hologram.

“It’s alright,” she replied softly in a voice that meant to comfort Mara but sounded strangely breathy. “It’s perfectly normal, darling.” Her comforting hands stroked Mara’s hairline. “You just inhaled extremely potent pheromones. It can be disorienting for a non-Zeltron. Relax a moment, until you’ve regained your strength.”

The Queen rose again, crossing the room to a console where she poured water from a carafe. She brought it to Mara who couldn’t help but watch her in a drunken haze, staring unabashedly at the way her robe fluttered as she sauntered over, breasts sumptuously bouncing with every step. She couldn’t strike the image of the Zeltron Queen, mouth opening in ecstasy as her consort sucked them. Mara’s own mouth watered, taking in her nipples, red from their ravishment and suddenly wishing she could— _NO! What the fuck is wrong with you?_

“It’s alright. You must be very confused,” said Queen Endra, as if answering her inner rebuke as she offered the glass. “It’s the pheromones making you feel this way.” And as if suddenly realizing her nudity, the Queen pulled her robe closed, tying the sash up and over her pregnant swell, though it did nothing to hide her nipples peeking from beneath the lace.

“Can you read my mind?” Mara asked, too lightheaded to worry over its bluntness, “Like Ren?” 

“No—well, not explicitly. But I can sense your feelings. And I know you’re confused about your body’s attraction to me.”

“It’s not—”

“It’s just chemicals,” she clarified. “It will subside. But you should wait before trying to walk. Can’t have you injured on my watch,” she smiled, lips pulling in a lascivious twist. “No doubt your companions would be rather cross at me.”

“My companions,” Mara shrugged at the thought of Hux and Ren, taking a large gulp of water that cooled her insides as it cascaded down. “I’m sorry about what happened. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“Oh darling, I know. No need to apologize for _them…_ ” she rolled her eyes and Mara suddenly felt more at ease. As if the anxious seal was broken and then she remembered that Queen Endra likely cared little for how Hux or Ren broached the subject because as Poe said, she had absolutely no intention of agreeing to anything. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Mara sighed, wishing she could just tell Queen Endra the truth—that they were on the same side. “They’re always at each other’s throats.”

“Perhaps Zeltros can help with that?” She crooked a lavender brow and Mara wanted to laugh at the suggestion. “Sometimes our atmosphere has a _relaxing_ effect on people...”

 _It would take much more than that,_ Mara thought, taking another sip of water and growing awkwardly silent. 

“Feel better?” the Queen asked, a serene smile gracing her lips and Mara was suddenly very glad for the Zeltron’s innate senses.

“Yes, thank you,” she nodded, “And I’m sorry for...interrupting.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Queen Endra replied, voice airy and waving it off. “Ever since I became pregnant my hormones have been impossible to control. Luckily my consorts are always on hand when the mood strikes.” She gave a wink and Mara blushed at the insinuation, her red cheeks wringing a good-natured laugh from the Queen.

“I’m sorry,” she added earnestly, “You must think me crude, but it’s just our culture. Sometimes I forget it’s so taboo in the wider galaxy.”

“No it’s...it’s fine.” 

In all honesty, Mara wished she wasn’t so embarrassed. She found herself strangely jealous of the Queen’s cavalier attitude toward lovers, sex and her own body. She seemed so at ease with herself in a way that Mara knew her limited experience would never allow.

“I should get back to my room,” Mara said, awkwardly noting the wet cotton between her legs as she stood. “If that’s alright.”

“Yes, of course. You’re not far,” Queen Endra stood up as well, walking her toward two double doors, similar to the ones in her own suite. “Take a left from here and you should see the guest wing on your right.”

Mara thanked her for the water and wished her goodnight, earning a kiss on the cheek and an offer to send her consorts if Mara found herself “in need” of them. She of course politely declined but suddenly wondered exactly what _kind_ of friend she was to Poe Dameron.

**. . .**

General Hux rose before dawn, taking his first cup of tarine tea at a small table set out on his quarters’ terrace, watching the sun rise over the palms. In the _Finalizer’s_ controlled environment, it was impossible to know if his alarm buzzed before or after any sunrises as each morning, noon and night were marked by nothing more than a slight shift in light percentages. Living in such artificial surroundings might have depressed some, but it's this aspect of naval life that Hux finds so appealing—the ability to control his surroundings to a T. And it's exactly what makes a place like Zeltros so untenable by contrast. 

This “tropical paradise” was too hot, too humid and the UV index too high for Hux to tolerate. His own skin had virtually no natural protection from raw sunlight thanks to a lifetime aboard starships designed to block such atmospheric elements making the rare planetside visit almost unbearable. But that wasn’t _even_ the worst of it. No. The worst of it was that the entire maker-forsaken planet was blanketed by the terrain he hated most of all. 

Sand.

Goddamned sand.

In Hux’s boyhood tenure on Jakku, he came to despise the way it blew into his eyes and hair and the way his feet sunk every time he walked, flicking it into every crease in his clothes and every crevice of his body. He swore the day they escaped that horrid planet that he would never set foot on sand again. And until now, he had kept that promise.

Mercifully most of these “engagements” took place indoors and even the outdoor banquet planned for that evening was to be in the royal gardens, a decidedly safe distance from any gritty terrain. So at least he wouldn’t have _that_ to contend with on top of everything else. Everything else being that little minx’s collar bones and her bare back, taunting him with her little fluttering gowns, conveniently exposing her spine all the way down to the twin dimples imprinted in the small of her back. He imagined pressing his leathered fingers into them as he fucked her into oblivion.

His cock jumped with a vulgar twitch and even Hux disapproved of his own distracted mind.

Was that the Queen’s plan? To distract him?

No, Hux decided. She wasn’t that clever. But it was working. And regardless of her intent in dressing Mara up like a little doll, it was putting images in his head he could no longer banish. And now _wasn’t_ the time to be distracted. He would make his case for Queen Endra’s support tonight and he needed to be in full control of his faculties, not leering at his subordinate like some horny cadet.

But he needed to do something. He could hardly think of anything else right now, so what would the banquet be like when she was paraded around before him in some barely-there frock? His heartbeat thundered at the mere thought of it. But it was those images that drove him to stand, abandoning his tea for the room next to his, unclear even to himself what his intentions were. And before he could interrogate them further, Hux was there, standing at her door, rapping his knuckles on it, pulse quickening as he awaited the familiar clicking.

Except it didn’t come, or at least not as quickly as he expected. He stood there a moment longer, hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture he didn’t even know he possessed. 

He knocked again and the longer he waited the more his curiosity turned to quiet alarm. The silence lingering still pulled him a step closer, pressing his ear to listen for movement on the other side but nothing came.

“Tallion?” he called out, though he was already erring toward action, pressing the door lever and finding to his surprise that it opened. That it was never locked.

The General peered out carefully from the doorway, preferring the threshold’s cover for reconnaissance. Her bed lay empty, uniform discarded in a nearby chair, but no sign of her anywhere.

His stomach suddenly dropped, instinct registering danger before his intellect could. He surveyed the room again, this time noting the furniture and her personal effects. Nothing moved and nothing suggested a struggle or forced entry but still... 

Something wasn’t right either. 

Hux unholstered his pistol, barrel raised upward, muzzle crossing his eyeline in ready position. He slipped through the doorway, feet planted, arms snapping to firing stance, twisting left then right, but nothing pierced his scope. The corners of her quarters lay empty with nothing but dainty furniture dotting the room in silent repose.

He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, silently crossing the room, headed toward the closed refresher door. He pulled the release, training his pistol on it as it whooshed open. Not a sound. He waited a beat before stepping in, barrel aimed toward the left corner before whirling right, but it too appeared empty.

The General spun around, spine tingling and not at all convinced that it wasn’t for something sinister. He almost called her name again until a sudden movement caught his gaze. Two doors lay wide open to an outside balcony where gossamer curtains swayed in the gentle breeze and through them Hux could make out a figure reclining on a chaise. 

He rolled his eyes and holstered his pistol once more, tense muscles softening as the pounding in his chest quieted. 

_Silly girl will be the death of me,_ he shrugged, shaking his head and slipping out onto the balcony.

“I came to—

What did he come for? Even if he knew, it didn’t matter as his mouth stopped working. He had ceded control of his motor skills to his eyes as they traveled the length of her body. She lay fast asleep, dark hair fanned out like an ink blot and a silken dressing gown wreathed her waist, leaving the languid stretch of her legs on display. 

His hungry eyes slipped from head to toe before sweeping back up, taking in the peaceful innocence of her brow and how it elegantly framed long lashes resting on faintly freckled cheekbones. A satisfied smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Here, surrounded by sun and sea, she looked more blissful than he had ever seen her and it brought a strange tightness to his chest. A possessive streak blazed at the very thought of anyone else seeing his little nymph like this. 

She groaned, twisting on her side and his libido purred in delight at the view afforded by it. Her shoulder shifted and the robe’s shawled collar slid down, further exposing the tender skin of her left breast as it slipped free. The open air caressed her nipple and he spied its naked peak hardening in the licentious sea breeze. 

He wanted to knead it, but instead licked the seam of his mouth, breath shallowing and fingers dipping down to trace the curve of her calf. It must have tickled because she flinched at his touch, causing the slit in her robe to part. She shifted again, hair tangling beneath her as her knee bent upward and the fabric fell back. His pulse jumped at her bare sex displayed, its succulent hood peaking from her folds, glistening in candy color pink. He could imagine its slick, smooth surface and suddenly his fingers itched to caress it.

With urges barely in check, Hux skimmed her kneecap, running a solitary finger along her inner thigh until he reached the warm concave of her hips. He added a second finger, sliding it along her seam, surprised and secretly delighted to see his fingertips shining with wet as if her body instinctively readied herself for him. A small moan escaped her once more. Hux paused, head cocked to one side. What could his little kitten be dreaming about? 

Hux decided it didn’t matter. A very exciting idea popped into his head. One that made him bite the inside of his mouth to repress a grin as he gently pushed her on her back, parting her robe and lowering himself between her open legs. She sighed deeply, but didn’t stir as he marveled at the feathery skin of her upper thigh, nuzzling it and breathing deep the fragrant arousal filling his head as he reveled in the thought of tasting her.

It was something he never even considered before because Hux simply didn’t care whether his partners came or not. They were just a means to an end, a hole for him to fill, and so it mattered not if they derived any pleasure from the act. His pleasure was the objective and their’s an unintended consequence at best.

And he certainly _never_ offered himself to anyone this way, but something about the way she looked, gloriously basking in the morning sun, and how it made him feel watching her in this strange, wonderful place, so very far from the controlled but clinical surroundings of a capital ship. It was awakening something in him, new and unexplored. And nothing was more new and unexplored than his mouth on her ripened sex, he thought as he traced his lips up to her slit.

He went slow, nose parting the wet seam, tongue following in a flat stroke all the way up to her pleasure center. Up and then down again. He reached the top, taking the tender hood in his mouth, applying pressure until her body seized. Good. She was awake. 

He sucked harder, tongue teasing the underside of her sensitive spot, her squirms intensifying as a result. His low chuckle rumbled her clit, fingers sunken into her thighs and holding her hips down until she surrendered under his grip. A strangled groan drew his gaze up from where he lay buried in her cunt, his erection throbbing at the hooded eyes and slack mouth peering down on him in groggy desire.

Once the shock faded, her little bud expanded against his lips and her body began to accept pleasure. Or at least the slippery walls framing his mouth confirmed as much. And her taste. It was tangy and complimented her musk, sharp but sweet. Hux never dreamed of enjoying a woman this much, but he could live on Zeltros for all eternity if it meant every morning began between her legs.

He was pulled from his reverie by a sharp yank to his hair that ended in a jolt to the head pulsing between his legs. She was pulling his coppery locks. It felt good. Like tiny needles piercing his scalp and he knew she drew close by the quivering in her thighs. He angled her hips up now, pushing deeper, tongue darting into her welcoming hole and she gasped, hand clapping against her own mouth. 

He took it as his cue to quicken the pace, laving her soaking clit in fast, little strokes mirroring her desperate thrusts and a shuttering cry heralded her climax. She screamed into her hand, the sound muffled and Hux savored the hiss of her gasps leaking out between her fingers.

With his mission complete, he raised up, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. He dipped down, hand bracing the chaise as he kneeled over her, taking in his spoils. She was a tiny little thing, sprawled beneath his shadow, cheeks glowing red and eyes sparkling with the freshness of orgasm. She stared up at him, almost boldly, and it challenged every last thread of restraint left within him.

But before Hux was a General, he was a soldier. One who learned to trust his instincts above all else, and right now, his instincts screamed at him to strip her down and ravish her right there on the balcony for anyone to see. Hopefully Ren. But he could wait, he decided. He would channel all of his energy into the next few hours which could decide so much of his future and she would be the final reward at the end of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you love how our boy went from hating Zeltros to dreaming of a future vacation home? As the Queen says...it's just the atmosphere. 😉
> 
> Next up is the chapter I've been waiting to write for a loooooooonnngggg time. We'll catch up with our trio at a very important banquet hosted by the Queen where Hux will make his case and Ren will make some trouble. Expect drinking! Dancing! Intrigue! Maybe a little something extra? 
> 
> This isn't going to go the way you think...or maybe EXACTLY the way you think? We'll see! 😁


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux makes his case. Ren makes trouble. Can they learn to work together...? Without giving away too much here, I'll just say yes, this is the chapter you've been waiting for. Extremely E.
> 
> It's a long one -- so strap in. ;)

XXI.

The Zeltronian sun hung low in the sky by the time Durra and Zorick knocked on Mara’s door. She had been expecting them this time, though she couldn’t help but eye Durra with the secret knowledge of her Poe connection. If only Zorick left, then she could ask more questions of the attendant. But then again, Poe warned her of revealing herself even to the Queen who was much more entangled with the Resistance than a simple courier, so perhaps it was for the best. 

Their assistance went without note as they dutifully styled and dressed her, this time selecting a slender, floor-length gown of blush tulle. It was fitted in the waist, its bodice decorated with sheer panels shaped by visible boning and lacy straps that delicately draped from each shoulder. For her hair, they swept it into a long, elaborate plait that snaked down her spine, threading it with small, white flowers. According to Zorick, they were everlilies, the rare flora to bloom natively on Zeltros. It was a small touch Mara could appreciate as they expressed a faint, clean fragrance that danced around her head when she moved.

With their tasks complete, the attendants left her and she joined her two companions in the commons. Both men stood, greeting her appearance with searing appraisal and she fought the urge to nervously cross her arms. She swallowed, cheeks warming at the intensity of their stares and it was the General who finally spoke, a hint of gruffness in his voice as he directed them to disembark.

Unlike the night before, Ren led them out onto the colonnade, allowing Hux to fall back with Mara. His fingers traced the length of her bare arm as he took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, the puff of air prickling her skin. Her eyelashes fluttered up at him, catching his dark, dilated eyes as they raked over her and his mouth drew tight, the outline of a clenched jaw flaring from his cheek.

This time, Hux looped his arm in her’s, staking his claim as they descended the staircase, though to his dismay, Ren seemed completely oblivious. The trio trailed out onto the lawn where they found the Queen standing at the garden gate, a gaggle of attendants surrounding her.

“Is everyone in the Order as attractive as you three?” she smirked, taking in her guests’ appearances. It was a humorous charge considering her own devastating beauty on display: lavender hair bespeckled in precious gems and lush body swathed in a gown of sheer cloth and floral appliqués. Mara had seen her in much less while looking just as beautiful of course and it’s those images that cause her to shyly avert her gaze.

“No,” Ren shrugged, clearly uncomfortable and already resenting every minute his presence required. 

“What good fortune then,” she answered smoothly, winking at Mara and General Hux as they followed her into the garden proper.

Unlike Hux and Ren, Mara was very familiar with her surroundings, recognizing the hedgerow where she collided with Poe the night before. Except it all looked very different now. The sky turned a velvety black under a new moon and the garden lawn lay lined in banquet tables, candlelight kissing the rims of delicate stemware dangling from the hands of Zeltron nobility. 

Mara lingered for a second to take it all in, marveling at the milling crowd of cream robes and pastel gowns beneath a lighted canopy. Her anonymity was short-lived though as the chatter of Endra’s court died away and purple gazes slid over their foreign guests in quiet curiosity. 

The Queen, no doubt accustomed to this effect, took it in stride as she led them to a long table at the garden’s far end. Her servants rushed ahead to pull her chair out and as they approached, Mara spied their names etched on tiny placards. And while she knew little of dining protocols, she assumed Ren’s status as Supreme Leader placed him on Queen Endra’s right while their lower statuses placed her and Hux on the left. Admittedly, Mara savored her further placement as it allowed her to blatantly people-watch throughout the night. 

A servant rang a bell to get the courtiers’ attention. Everyone took it as their cue to be seated while the Queen made a brief announcement introducing them as “representatives of the First Order and esteemed guests of Zeltros.” As she spoke, servants delivered glasses filled with champagne and she concluded it with a toast. The fluted stems raised politely, regardless of how welcome their presence really was, which Mara secretly doubted. 

The food was exotic by any standards but especially for someone who only ever lived on an agriworld and a backwater trading post. Thankfully the server who set it before Mara pointed out each portion, starting with a scoop of tiny beads called Icindric caviar. Next to it sat a small, cooked sea creature called lobster, served in a bisellian sauce and finally some sort of starch called yobas. Mara took a small bite of caviar but quickly decided it was too salty and instead pushed bits of it around her plate.

She spared a glance at the General who seemed rather engaged with their host, though that wasn’t surprising. Queen Endra could charm a krayt dragon. And if it weren’t for the small band of string instruments playing behind them, perhaps she could have overheard them. But no matter how hard her ears strained, she caught nothing more than a few words so she eventually stopped trying altogether.

An hour came and went, leaving Mara looking for something to do and eventually finding it in a bottomless champagne glass thanks to overzealous servers. As they poured, she watched the courtyard-cum-dance floor fill with couples, observing them wistfully, admiring the elegance that appeared so natural for Zeltrons who spun in elaborate patterns. It was strangely hypnotizing and she could watch them for hours if that’s all the night required of her.

She assumed the evening would pass as uneventfully until something warm grazed her knee. It was a soft, slow touch and when she looked down, it was the slender fingers of General Hux tracing languid circles in her tulle skirt. Her face snapped at him but he ignored her completely, head entertaining the Queen while his hand entertained her upper thigh. She took another nervous sip, face burning of alcohol and anxiety, knowing anyone could see his searching limbs if they only looked. His roving fingers grew bolder, diving into the valley of her legs and her eyes widened, catching his wrist when a voice jolted her.

“Let’s give the General some privacy.”

Mara froze, neck canting up toward the most unlikely of people. It was Supreme Leader Ren, standing there in all his finery, the prince of darkness framed in lantern light. Her gaze dropped to the open palm waiting for her before returning to his dark eyes that flickered like onyx gems and she recognized it for what it was: an order.

  
  
  


“They make a handsome couple,” Queen Endra remarked, resting her glass against her lips, eyes trailing Ren and Mara just over the rim.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Hux scowled, though his intense stare provided evidence to the contrary.

“Oh, you needn’t hide from me, General.” Her rosy chin tilted down, eyes casting him a shrewd look. “I can sense your feelings for them.”

“Then you must sense my irritation at the Supreme Leader’s unerring impertinence.” He ground the words through clenched teeth, swallowing at the way Ren’s fingers spanned the small of her back. 

“I do,” she admitted, “ _and_ the conflict accompanying it.”

“There is no conflict,” Hux snarled a little too harshly as they stepped onto the dance floor. “He’s a mannerless brute.”

“And yet there’s something distinctly appealing about that, isn’t there?”

“You speak only for yourself.”

The Queen chuckled, not at all convinced by his protest as she turned to meet his gaze with an impish smirk. “Are you usually this humorless?”

His eyes widened as if taken aback and then something surprising happened. They softened. 

“Always.”

  
  
  


Mara remained silent, head swirling as one hand folded in Ren’s calloused palm, the other reaching for his broad shoulder. As they stood there together, his enormous frame dwarfing her figure, she realized his touch had never been anything but forceful. And yet here he was, holding her with fragile, practiced hands, their gentle grip not even a hint of the destruction for which they were so capable. 

“You think I aim to rile him,” he said, eyebrow quirking as he stepped back, guiding her into a simple box step pattern. _Where did he learn to dance?_

“When are you not?” she quipped, skirts swirling in a delicate spin around his finger. She felt the court’s eyes on them as he enveloped her hand once more and the faintest of smiles tugged at his full pout.

“I gave the General what he wanted,” he answered simply. “They’re alone now.”

It was a logic that Mara dared not argue though she knew _this_ was not the method Hux preferred.

“Chandrilla,” Ren said, tightening their embrace until his doublet skimmed her body. She shuddered at his abs brushing her breasts, remembering how they felt against her back as she writhed in his lap and when she looked up with a puzzled expression, it came with cheeks flushed.

“You wondered where I learned to dance,” he answered, eyes flicking over at General Hux who briefly met his gaze.

“Before the Order?” Mara softly probed, chin tipping toward him. She found it hard to imagine him as whoever came before Kylo Ren, as Ben Solo, she supposed, who no doubt trained in all the ways his mother knew might be important someday though certainly not like this.

He leaned down, hair brushing her neck as he pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. _“Yes.”_

“Do you ever think about it?” she breathed, the words leaving her lips before she could wonder if it would raise his hackles.

“Think about what?” he echoed, his voice a numbing lull, soothing and silken like the dark eyes swallowing her whole as his face hovered above her.

“Everything before,” she whispered, her body melting against his hard edges while he held her in his gaze as if nothing and no one else existed in all the galaxy except for in that moment.

  
  
  


Queen Endra’s eyes widened, shifting in her chair, “I’m sorry General, it’s Anzhel,” she smiled though it looked more like a grimace as she caressed her swollen belly. “He must be enjoying the party because he can’t seem to sit still.”

Hux ignored her comment entirely, not at all concerned with her discomfort when the distance so rapidly shrunk between his companions. 

“Do you have any children, General?”

The question violently snatched him from the dance floor, her words unwittingly exhuming a topic he often avoided. “No,” he snapped. “A ship is no place to raise children.”

“But a perfect place to train them?” she fired back, her flattened tone catching Hux completely off guard. He sensed a sharp edge in the cut of her eyes and now knew where this conversation inevitably led. 

“That’s an insidious rumor,” he replied, voice near monotone, not yet sure how to escape this particular noose.

“But not a lie and the difference between the two is a kernel of truth.”

 _There it was,_ Hux thought, chewing the inside of his mouth. She had likely anticipated this moment from the second they set foot on Zeltros. And now she found her opening.

“And what kernel are you afraid of being true?” he countered, raising his glass but not drinking. 

“That they’re kidnapped.”

“Please,” Hux snorted, taking a sip. “If our troops were _kidnapped_ children, then where is the Holonet exposé?” 

“And if they’re not kidnapped, then where are they coming from?” she challenged, her voice hardening and Hux saw the easy path vanishing before him.

“Places people like you can remain blissfully ignorant of. Labor camps. Trafficking dens,” he countered matter-of-factly. “They’re not being kidnapped. They’re being _rescued_.”

“In exchange for…?”

“Their service. And if they prefer the misery and chaos of their home world to the safety and security of the Order, then they’re free to leave at the end of their tour.” He allowed a pause, one long enough for the words to sink in but not enough for her reply. “And yet they never do. So ask yourself, _your grace,_ if we kidnapped them, then why aren’t they speaking out?”

Hux took a strategic sip of champagne, rolling it around his tongue, letting the silence settle in and he knew she had fallen into his mental snare. Just as he planned it. 

“And while we’re on the subject of children, I’d like for you to think about your own for a moment...about his future and the futures of all the children of Zeltros.” A server came to refill his glass and he instead gave an exacting look, hand covering the top until he scurried away. “I wonder, do you know what’s deciding their very fates right now?”

Hux had hoped to avoid this route but she clearly harbored hostilities and it seemed only one option remained: the velvet hammer.

“That,” Hux pointed straight up. Queen Endra’s eyes snapped up, neck following them toward the dursteel ring hovering so high above Zeltros that it was reduced to a sparkling dot in the midnight sky. From the ground, it was hard to believe it spanned over a hundred thousand kilometers wide. 

“Now, my expertise is more in ships than shields, but I saw it on atmospheric entry and I’d say it looks suspiciously like a Golan M. I don’t think I’ve seen one of those since _I_ was child. But then I thought... _surely_ I’m mistaken. _Surely_ a planet embroiled in an endless conflict with vicious warlords like the Tofs wouldn’t rely on such outdated defenses.”

The Queen rolled her eyes. “General, I’m sure this works on other planets standing in your path, but the Tofs are primitive. We haven’t been invaded in decades because they haven’t the resources to acquire anything that could pierce an orbital shield. Not even one as old as a Golan M3185, which you so accurately identified.” 

_“Not yet,”_ he corrected.

“What are you inferring?”

“I’m not inferring anything,” he answered coolly, “I’m _saying_ all that stands between you and all the things I’ve seen in the darkest corners of the galaxy is a fragile net. And though I would take no pleasure in backing your enemies, I won’t hesitate if you leave me no choice.” 

The Queen’s face froze, staring at him as if he wounded her. As if she hadn’t known this entire time that all their dallying on Zeltros was always winding down to this. But if she truly hadn’t, she did now. The raw look of terror consuming her told General Hux she knew exactly where the line in the sand lay and he could feel her backing away from him.

“I don’t take kindly to threats,” she spat venomously, body straightening in an attempt to show strength.

“Then let me add a carrot to the stick,” proclaimed Hux, leaning toward her and placing his glass on the table top.

“The Republic has always had Zelcorp in its sights. If you support their return to power, they’ll rebuild the Senate. And then what? They’ll turn on you by forcing a breakup.”

“Zelcorp isn’t responsible for the _Hosnian Cataclysm._ So if anyone is in their sights, it’s you.”

“Perhaps. But coming after me means war. Coming after you means a rich bureaucrat doesn’t get a third mega yacht…” the General raised his eyebrows in a knowing look. “Much less bloody.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. And so do you. Your monopoly has led to astronomical drug prices and the Republic only staved off action for this long because you’ve been loyal to them, but they’ll be up against a wall now. They see your power as threatening. I see it as an asset. Support our takeover of Coruscant and not only will I ignore the monopoly, I’ll ensure it continues.”

“How?”

“Through official policy barring new entrants to the market.”

“You would court outrage,” she said, looking out over the Zeltron revelers. 

“The public won’t even notice,” Hux countered, studying the way her fingers delicately grazed her lips as if despite her doubts she still considered it. “I plan to make many proclamations in the beginning, most of them _much more_ outrageous than this. It will just be one in a long line.”

“And you’ll protect Zeltros?” she echoed, hand dropping down to stroke her unborn child.

“You have my word,” he breathed, eyes searching her’s before adding his final touch: a gentle hand that covered her own.

  
  
  


“You mean...do I ever think of how things could have been?” Ren corrected. There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably and she suddenly felt exposed, like this was a path she should have never wandered down. And rather than answering, Mara nodded against his chest, knowing he saw through her and heard the words left unsaid. _If you never made the choices you did._

“No,” he said firmly, his answer quenching any hope that still flickered. “What could have been isn’t worth thinking of…” he trailed off, his chin resting against the crown of her head, “Like _you_ wishing General Hux was in my place.” 

She reeled back, mouth open in protest and when she caught his face, it was supreme snugness that greeted her.

“If he wanted to dance with you he would have.”

She said nothing in reply as Ren’s giant paw reached down, thumb lifting her chin, forcing her scowl to meet his rakish gleam. “Cheer up Tallion,” he drawled. “Maybe we’ll spur him to action.”

“He’s not easily spurred,” she relented, not even bothering to dispute Ren’s charge.

“Then we’ll have to try harder,” he murmured, dark eyes glowing as he bent down and she suddenly realized, with a mix of terror and anticipation that he meant to kiss her. There, in front of everyone, knowing that somewhere Hux was watching them at this very moment.

 _“We’re leaving.”_ A voice barked. It jolted her away from Ren and a hand touched her shoulder. It was General Hux, face creased in a glower as he swept past. The Knight, however, seemed completely unfazed, eyebrows raised in a knowing shrug as if to say, ‘ _See?’_ before following in his rival’s wake.

“And just when I was beginning to enjoy myself,” Ren muttered.

“You can enjoy yourself on Coruscant,” Hux snapped, leading them away from the gardens and leaving Mara to stand at lawn's edge for one last look into the night.

Similar to the first night, the air felt tense when they entered their shared suite, though surprisingly, it was Ren who spoke first. 

“Well, how did it go? Has she pledged her undying fealty?” he scoffed, plopping down on the fainting couch, casually leaning on the armrest and stretching his legs out. Mara took her cue from Ren, joining him on the sofa opposite while Hux remained standing, leaning against the closed double doors.

“Soon enough,” he breathed, ignoring the sarcasm of Ren’s barb.

 _You’re in for a surprise,_ Mara thought, pressing her lips together and trying to keep her expression neutral. 

“How do you know?” Ren pressed.

“Because I made her an offer she can’t refuse.” Hux’s lips tightened in a relenting smile as he waltzed over to the bar cart, reaching for the complimentary wine. 

_Pop._

“Champagne?” Ren smirked, though he didn’t sound entirely facetious. “You _are_ confident then.” 

“I am,” Hux said, eyes brimming with arrogance as he poured a glass and held it out for Mara. “And it’s all thanks to Officer Tallion.”

 _“Me?”_ Mara blanched, eyeing Hux in disbelief. 

“The _Tofs,”_ the General replied, pouring a glass for Ren and then himself. “If you hadn’t mentioned it, I would have never thought of using them as leverage.”

A streak of horror sliced through her. She winced without realizing it before recovering in a smile and hoping it looked genuine. Though even if the General had sensed her panic, he was clearly too high on his own achievements to notice or care. Instead, he raised his glass, the golden liquid shimmering in chandelier light. “To Mara,” he said, triumphant gaze landing on her in a way that made her strangely embarrassed.

 _“To Mara,”_ Ren echoed, a spark of amusement in his eyes as they flickered over her. 

They all took a long swig and as Mara held it up to her nose, she froze, resting the rim against her lips. It smelled like something. She inhaled deeply. Something sharp like a spice. Maybe... _algoraspice?_ And something else. A clean, faintly sweet scent like fresh-cut fruit. She had smelled it before—she was sure of it—but couldn’t place where or when. 

Tipping the glass back, the taste made her flinch as it touched her tongue. It exploded in her mouth with an electric burst. Like lightning, shooting straight to her head. She pulled the glass from her lips, staring at it suspiciously. It tasted firm and fresh and much sweeter than whatever wine was served at the garden party. And it left her strangely thirsty, as if it had a slight, salty aftertaste. 

“I’ll admit,” Hux said, topping off their glasses and reclining on the sofa across from her. “I thought this was a _terrible_ idea...”

She took a generous sip, head already fuzzy and secretly admiring her superior. The way he sat, one slender leg draped over the other, long arm stretched across the sofa back and sipping from a champagne glass, struck her as enticingly elegant.

“What?—Coruscant?” Ren deadpanned, “You’ve made _that_ abundantly clear.” It was meant as a jab but came out oddly playful and Mara wondered if the prospect of victory made him suddenly so amiable. 

“That too,” Hux acknowledged. “But I meant all of this,” he replied, gesturing to the room with his champagne glass. “Bringing you here...But now I think it _helped._ ”

Ren let out an amused snort as he took another sip, “How so?” 

“Your brutishness made me look _civilized_ by comparison.”

Ren rolled his eyes though the corners of his lips suggested a suppressed smile, “Don’t get any ideas, General. I’m not coming to any more of these.”

Something was off. 

Blood pulsed against her lips and she rubbed them together subconsciously. Alarm bells were ringing but it wasn’t clear why. She wasn’t in any danger. Not yet anyway. And the wine was _so_ good. The mood unusually light. If it weren’t for the crest on Hux’s sleeve, a constant reminder of whose company she kept, Mara could almost _forget_ they posed any danger at all.

She found herself suddenly reaching for the bottle on the small end table where Hux left it. As she raised it to pour, the label caught her eye and everything clicked into place.

_Spiced..._

Her face suddenly burned bright red. She glanced at her two companions, recognizing the relaxed, dilated look in their eyes and flushed color of their cheeks. 

_...with pheromones_

As she deigned to set the bottle aside, Hux pulled it from her grasp, refilling his and Ren’s glasses. Should she stop them? She watched the glittering liquid ribbon out, opening her mouth to speak when Ren cut in.

“While we’re making confessions...” he said with a dramatic pause, head lazily swiveling toward Hux. “I have one for you about a certain little officer.” His gaze slithered over to Mara and her eyes blew wide in unveiled fear, the wind sucked from her lungs, leaving her breathless in the silence that followed. 

“What kind of confession?” Hux intoned, jaw tightening and eyes pinning the Knight down in a subtly nervous gesture.

“She’s a spy.”

“A sp—

Hux made a sound, like the start of a reply, but his voice failed and all he could muster in the end was a crooked brow, face draining as he blinked wordlessly. For once, completely at a loss. 

_“For me,”_ the Supreme Leader added with a slight smirk.

The General’s mouth closed then, gaze narrowing and the expression that replaced it was something else entirely. His eyes, wide in disbelief, fell hooded and glazed as they swept over her, mouth quirked in a lop-sided grin.

“Was she at least a good spy?” Hux asked coolly, pitch lowering as he gracefully twirled the champagne glass between two long fingers.

 _“Terrible,”_ Ren concurred, dark eyes glittering wickedly, slinking forward and setting Mara’s glass aside as he coaxed her toward him.

“A shame,” Hux sighed, words laced with faux disappointment. Mara’s mouth ran dry at the sweltering leer mirrored back as the Knight nestled her between his open legs, her tulle skirt fanning out over him.

Ren’s lips contorted into a faint jeer, hands skimming her bare arms and nose trailing the delicate slope of her neckline as he muttered against her skin, “I must say, you’re taking it well.” 

“I’m furious,” Hux murmured, timbre veiled in heavy arousal and eyes smoldering, conveying nothing of the sort. 

“She’s been _very_ bad.” 

Her pulse battered against the broad chest pressing her back, heat pooling between her legs at the suggestive lilt rippling from Ren. 

“Perhaps a little punishment is in order,” Hux offered, towering over them as he stood and drained his glass. _“Hold her.”_

“Should we strip search her?” Ren suggested, looking up at his rival in mock alarm, fingers already finding the zipper and pulling it in one, long, slow drag. “Could be dangerous...”

“Excellent idea,” Hux purred, pulling her to stand. “You can never be too sure.” 

The look of pure lust peering down on her sent a shiver up her spine. Or maybe it was a chill from Ren who peeled her dress off. He gave it one last tug and it collapsed in a puff of fabric, leaving her in nothing but a delicate pair of panties. She inhaled sharply, bare skin prickling beneath their shared gaze. 

Hux’s pale lids fell, eyes roving her body, hands massaging her nipples, their tightened peaks tingling with pressure while Ren lavished attention from behind. The Knight’s long fingers dove beneath the elastic band where they sunk into her ass, thumbs spreading the soft flesh there, so perfectly within reach from where he sat.

Hux spied Kylo tugging at the offending fabric and spared an eye roll as he slipped the vibroblade hidden in his sleeve. He dragged the tip so lightly it tickled the skin between her breasts as it fell to her stomach. When he reached her hips, the blade flipped and he sliced each strap with practiced precision. He pulled the scrap of cloth, now in tatters, from between her legs and tossed it aside. Mara felt Ren’s hum of approval on her skin as his fingers kneaded the soft muscles and lips pressed against each cheek.

Hux stepped forward, sweeping her into an open-mouthed kiss, tongue searching her warm, wet cavern. His lips consumed her hungrily but it was Ren’s tongue tracing the cleft of her ass that had her gasping in the General’s mouth. 

As the Knight’s lips reached her pelvic bone, his hands stretched the length of her body, blazing twin paths to her breasts as he rose up behind her. Her knees weakened in their erotic snare until they buckled and Ren was there, catching her in the firm clutch of his body. He let out a low groan at the way her ass cushioned his clothed erection and like an animal chasing pure instinct, he grinded into her, forcing her against Hux’s pulsing member. Her eyes close, savoring the harshness of their clothes raking her naked body and the heat pressing both ends.

“Do you think this is punishing her?” Ren mused, eyes cutting to Hux between the kisses he’s planting along her shoulder blade.

“Hmmm…” It was meant to be thoughtful but sounded suspiciously wanton on the General’s lips as his hand dove between her legs. “No...no I don’t think so…” he teased, bare fingers wringing a gasp from her as he grinned at the wetness coating him. “... _in fact_ —she seems to enjoy it.”

Ren released a disapproving growl. “Can’t have that...Perhaps we try something else?” the Knight suggested, wrapping her waist in one arm, tossing her like a rag doll back onto the fainting couch. His free arm made her straddle the cushion and Hux slotted himself below her, pushing her back until she’s lying on the cushion and when she looks up, it’s Ren’s legs on either side of her head. 

The Supreme Leader stooped down to kiss her neck and she suddenly felt another pair of lips at her ribcage. They meet in the middle, Ren trailing down her collar bone and Hux kissing up her stomach until both find her breasts, licking and sucking each peak until they tingle with intense pleasure. 

“Please!” she finally screamed, writing beneath both sets of hands.

“Please what?” Hux snarled, mouth releasing her rosy nipple. Ren paused as well and Mara caught the line of his gaze darting to the General’s wetted lips. It’s her imagination that conjures the starved glint in Ren’s eyes, the way they darken while drinking in his rival’s smooth cheekbones and golden eyelashes. And then, in an instant, she realizes it isn’t. It’s Ren’s hand cupping the back of the General’s neck and it’s Ren’s jaw crushing the General’s lips with unabated hunger.

Hux moans into the Supreme Leader’s mouth. Mara can do nothing but gawk, eyes wide as they battle for dominance in a single, searing kiss. It’s shocking and bewildering and making her unbearably wet as Ren adds another hand, threading it through the General’s strawberry locks. She can hear her own panting now, unsure of how much more she can take before she’s begging for attention. 

Ren deepens the kiss, lips opening and she catches his pink organ darting into Hux’s pale mouth. Mara bites her lip, hand slithering down to her sex where her clit is pulsing so hard she can barely think straight. Her fingers gather the juices leaking out, wiping them along the sensitive hood and sighing in brief release as she watches Hux’s face flush. But it’s Ren who finally pulls back and their heads swivel in unison as if her presence was suddenly noted. She blushed in the heat of their carnal gaze. Her hand froze and they both looked down to find her desperate bid for relief.

“Feeling neglected?” Ren taunted, tongue laving Hux’s reddened ear. His eyes closed, letting out a shallow breath and Mara melted, raising up to catch her superior’s open maw. But the kiss was short lived as Ren’s hand pushed her down firmly, his rejection of her needs earning a whine.

“You’ll get your turn,” Ren chuckled, fingers working the hidden hooks of Hux’s uniform. Once each clasp was opened, the General reeled back, shedding his top layers and Ren mirrored him until they were both bare-chested. Mara couldn’t help but marvel at their bodies. Hux was wiry, marble smooth skin blanketing long, lean muscles whereas Ren was bulky, raw strength bulging from every angle in a brutish physicality; both different and equally alluring in their own ways. And she wished they were both using them to tear her apart in that moment.

“I think we’ve found a punishment she responds to,” Hux thrummed, fingering Ren’s engorged lips like he imagined them in all sorts of scenarios. Mara knows her mouth is hanging open, saliva gathering under her tongue as she watches them above her in an aroused stupor. 

“I think we have,” Ren smiled. It’s a slinky, self-assured thing that has her heart pumping wildly as he pulls her up to a sitting position, hands running the length of her arms and spreading her legs as if to display her to the future Emperor.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Hux sighed, fingers lovingly carding her plaited hair, finding the elastic band and pulling it free. 

“Yes,” Ren hissed, “she is.” 

The Knight combs her braided strands, the tiny flowers falling down around her before perching her on top of his thighs, fingers diving down and curling up under her. He dipped one into her slit, dragging her juices up to her second, smaller hole.

“Has anyone taken you here?” Ren whispered, finger circling the ring of tissue and eyes locking on Hux.

Mara swallowed deeply, gaze dropping, “No.”

“Good,” he huffed. “Because this is mine now.” 

The thought of his girth spreading her virgin hole brought a delicious tremble skittering through her body and she did everything possible to hide her terror and excitement.

Ren gently slid her off of him to stand, fingers unfastening his trousers while the General’s eyes tracked his every move. Heat blooms across Hux’s cheekbones and when Mara turned, it was Ren who stared him down as his jutting cock tumbled out.

The cushion sank under Ren’s returned weight. Hux curled her up in his arms then, chin resting on her shoulder. She could feel his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths as his fingers tangled her hair.

 _“Touch yourself,”_ he breathed. Mara made to move, but then realized it was not directed at her. For when she looked up, his flinty gaze fell on Ren in a quiet challenge, as if Hux sought to test his power over him. She twisted in his embrace, amazed to find the Supreme Leader astonishingly compliant. 

He leaned back, muscular thighs spread, calloused hands diving between them to grip his unyielding erection. His eyes are defiant, staring at them both as he gives the impressive organ a series of long, slow tugs and Mara can feel her sex openly weeping between her legs.

Ren suddenly stopped, body lurching forward to strip her from the General, hauling her easily onto his lap where he positioned his cock beneath the curve of her hips. She cried out at the sheer heat of him sliding beneath her, the tip parting her slit so Hux can see it cresting on the other side. Hux’s own cock twitches and Ren smiles triumphantly at the General’s quickness to rid himself of his trousers.

Ren pulls Mara back against his chest, one hand cupping her breast while the other plugs her mouth with two fingers. He slides them back and forth, slickening them in her spit and watching his rival gape with a certain measure of satisfaction. She releases his fingers with a _pop_ and Ren slides them down between their bodies, swirling his wet digits against the spot he’s most eager to stretch. 

She lets out a sharp inhale and Hux knows it’s from Ren pressing the tight ring of her back entrance. Her body heaves with quivering breaths and she can feel every muscle tightening in anticipation for what’s in store. Ren reaches up to skim her neck, fingertip pressing her throbbing vein as the hand behind her adds a second finger, both working to ease her open and she’s unsure of what turns her on more: Ren preparing her or the General watching them.

Hux shudders, absently finding his own cock and finally giving it a few pumps while his other hand touches his lips as if in thought. He subconsciously latches onto his index knuckle, biting down hard in an attempt to suppress a moan as he watches the Knight line himself up.

Ren finally initiates the first push and just the tip of his broad cock leaves Mara gasping. The slow, sure press of it into her tight passage wrenches her body in a strange sensation. It’s soothed by Ren who whispers encouragement between kisses on her neck as he pushes deeper, inch by searing inch. She cries out at the utter fullness of him but it's cut short by Hux who now hovers over her, mouth covering her own as his wet tip brushes her tender hood.

Ren is gasping too and she finally feels him completely seated. Thankfully, the Knight doesn’t move. She can feel his breath on her neck, mustering every ounce of self-control to let her body adjust. She swallows, craning up at Hux whose face is so clouded in desire that her entire body wants— _needs_ —him inside of her too and before she can beg, she’s already tugging him toward her. She lines him up and he enters her in one, full thrust. It pushes her back onto Ren who impales her even further, the sudden jerk ripping a guttural moan from his throat. 

She’s panting desperately now, and it’s not just her own breaths coming out in a string of gasps as the pressure on her hips builds. Everything is tight. Unbelievably tight and she’s scared the stress on her pelvis might snap her in two. Or burst. She looks up to find the General’s eyes closed, as if just looking at her would trigger his unraveling. And then they move. Agonizingly slow and the tension gradually fades as both men work to find a rhythm. 

Hux is still working her mouth. His kisses devolve sloppily as he grows more eager and it's his attentiveness that invites her body to open up. Ren is groaning in her ear with each thrust until he suddenly stops and she realizes it's because Hux has trailed off of her mouth and taken over his lips. Not to be ignored, Mara mouths the hollow of Hux’s throat and it’s his turn to whine as an overwhelming heat blankets her entire body. The two men rut faster, their cocks rubbing one another through the thin lining inside of her and the friction scrambles her vision with exploding stars.

Their bodies undulate like this, a hot, sweaty mess as the tiny ache blooms in the pit of her stomach. It grows quickly at the press of them on each side and it’s their shared moans that set her off as Ren plunges into her and Hux grinds against her clit until she’s nothing but raw nerves in their hands. She faintly recognizes her own voice rising to a fevered pitch as it mingles in the squelch of their bodies and breathy moans. And she’s finally coming, body convulsing and clenching around them and it’s suddenly too much and not enough.

Her climax sets off a chain reaction with Ren soon following, his own cock twitching as he slams her hips on to him until he’s gritting his teeth and unloading into her warm, tight hole. A string of sounds fall from his lips until every last drop is spent. And then finally Hux who chases his own climax with reckless abandon, hips pistoning at an unstable clip until his entire body stutters as he returns to her mouth, kissing her swollen lips in the last few, final thrusts. 

They collapse, limbs tangled around her until Ren falls back against the armrest, his inky hair plastered in a sweaty mass across his forehead, cock softening and eventually slipping out of her. Hux is more gentle with Mara, hand threading her hair as her breathing slows and she can feel the energy slipping from her at the warmth of his chest lulling her to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to me to make interest rates and trust busting plot points in a smut fic. 😂 😂 😂 I know, I know, not the sexiest topics in the galaxy, but hopefully it all evened out? 
> 
> Obviously this opens up some different dynamics but get ready for things to get. a little. bit. crazy. See you next time and definitely feel free to leave feedback—all kinds are welcome 😊
> 
> And finally, thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has commented, kudo'd, subscribed. Every single one means the world to me.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen makes a decision and now Mara must make one of her own. Nothing too explicit, but might be a little gut wrenching?

XXII.

Mara remembered nothing of the return to her bedroom. The last thing she could recall was the scent of General Hux and the way he held her as he whispered words of praise. _Good girl,_ he said. Words that echoed in those last, feverish moments before she fell into the deepest sleep she could remember. And when she woke, the words rolled around in her head and she realized how much she wanted them. How much they covered her like a balm for a burn she didn’t know she was suffering.

And as for who carried her to her own bed was anyone’s guess. Either possessed the strength to place her gently enough without waking her but neither laid beside her now. She was alone save the bare morning light that greeted her from the open balcony and despite its warmth, she felt cold on the inside.

As she rose, her thoughts drifted to the way their fingers felt, kneading and tugging and caressing, callus and smooth, strong and skillful. She shivered at the memory of them. In their absence, she could have almost tricked herself into believing it never happened. That it was the result of her depraved mind conjuring the most vivid dreams in her sleep. _Almost._ Until she felt something else—the dull ache in her sex and a battery of light bruises on her arms and hips that argued otherwise. 

She shrugged on a silk robe, wrapping it around her as if to shield herself from her own nakedness. It felt cool against her skin as she made for the common area. Her hand rested on the lever. Facing them now filled her with a creeping dread. Would they acknowledge any of it? ‘ _Would you prefer that?’_ an inner voice snapped back.

Delaying this was pointless. She would have to come out eventually and confront them in the cold light of day. _Best to just get it over with_ , she shrugged. Mara pressed the lever down, opening the door just wide enough to slip out. Her pulse immediately quickened, expecting one or both of them to be there, but even as she looked around the room where so many forbidden things had transpired, she saw neither of the men who engaged in them.

And then she heard voices, out on the terrace, and recognized their low registers. The same ones that had whispered in her ear were murmuring to each other from across a rot-iron table, two cups of tea and a toast rack forgotten between them. Her heart flipped at the sight of them together and the image that came unbidden was Ren’s broad, swollen lips crashing against the General’s, searching tongue swiping his teeth. Her insides tangled and a heat coursed through her, ending in her fingertips. It wasn’t for several more minutes that she noticed the General was reading something with great interest. And most astonishing of all was that it was written on paper. _Actual_ paper. Rare and luxurious in modern times, the sight of it continually amazed Mara. And it was this very detail that revealed who must have sent it, for no one else would employ such antiquitous opulence in the everyday than the Queen of Zeltros.

“No need to lurk, kitten.” 

She visibly flinched, not at Hux calling her out but at him calling her _that._ In front of Ren. It was subtle but very much noticed and she couldn’t help but wonder what it meant.

Mara tried to appear casual stepping out onto the balcony, hair unbound and robe rippling in the soft breeze as she took the empty seat between them. Rather than meeting their gazes she narrowed in on the teapot set before her, staring down at her cup and saucer as she poured. Neither man said a word and the silence was something she could feel as the General slid the folded letter toward her.

She picked it up, scanning its contents and realizing that if they had ever planned to acknowledge last night, that door was forever closed. 

The paper, perfectly creased and printed on a royal letterhead, brought news Mara could scarcely believe. Poe had said Queen Endra was a friend of the Resistance. That she gave them _money._ That no matter what offer was on the table, she could never be swayed. She believed in them and everything they stood for. He was sure of it. 

And he was wrong. 

_...Zeltros pledges to support the First Order by any means necessary in the pursuance of installing new leadership on the capitol city of Coruscant..._

Her skin felt tight, as if it suddenly shrunk in the Zeltronian sun, and she took in a breath that refused to leave. She had to force the air out as she read the words again and again and again until they ran together in a never ending loop. She was staring at it without reading now and it was clear Hux had picked up on it.

“It arrived this morning,” the General said, sipping tea, voice dripping in self-satisfaction.

 _An offer she couldn’t refuse._

It wasn’t a bluff. He had done it. By hook or by crook, Mara didn’t know and knew it didn’t matter. She should feel panicked, but she doesn’t. Panic feels too sharp, too real for the blankness spreading out into the far reaches of her mind. The feeling—or lack thereof—reminds her of something she had once heard about what happens when a star dies. Not all of them explode, apparently. Some just burn and burn and burn until the hydrogen runs out and then collapse, quietly, a million times over until they’re transformed into something else, a dead marble with the density of an entire planet in a single teaspoon. And when she finally looks up to see General Hux’s eyes, they look like that: two dead marbles, glassy and frighteningly blue, taking her in and nothing to say between them.

**. . .**

“This couldn't have waited until tomorrow?” Le Hivre yawned, unusually sloppy in his haste to get dressed and still wiping the sleep from his eyes as they approached the nearest security backroom. It was late into beta cycle by the time Mara returned to the _Steadfast_ and the Colonel was clearly irritated by her insistence on meeting in the “middle of the night.”

“No,” Mara barked as the door slid shut and red lights rose over them. She was used to seeing Le Hivre like this, the colored lights coating him crimson, as if his blood pumped on the outside, but even now it was still eerie. 

“Something’s happened,” she breathed. “Something that wasn’t supposed to.”

The alarm in her voice jolted him and he rose up to his full height, back straight, eyes alert. 

“What is it?”

“Zeltros,” Mara swallowed, leaning against the observation window, words falling in a flustered rush. “They weren’t _supposed_ to support it!”

“Support what?”

“The invasion— _fucking_ _Coruscant!_ ”

Le Hivre froze, breathing out and blinking slow. His brows knitted together, gaze falling to the floor as if he needed a second to collect himself. The silence stretched and when he met her gaze, finally, she recognized the glint of fear in it. And that scared her most of all. He had been an agent for years. He was supposed to be brave, supposed to _know_ what to do now. But then she realized that her mentor didn’t know what to do at all.

“What happened?” The question sounded scratchy, as if he too fought the unease creeping beneath it.

“I don’t know—” Her heart was racing now. “ _Fuck!_ —I don’t know _how_ he did it, but he did.”

“Just calm down—

“No! For all we know, Hux could be calling up the troops this second,” she muttered, staring into the interrogation chamber below. “...We have to warn Leia."

“How?” Le Hivre fired back, his voice suddenly sober and it's this fact that annoys her. “The transmitters are still down.”

“I’ll break into the comms deck and blast it out to the whole Holonet if I have to—

“The comms deck!” he blurted, hands flying to her shoulders as if he might shake her. _“Are you insane?!”_

“Maybe,” she said simply, shrugging him off. “I don’t know, but I know if we do nothing, it’s game over. You get that, don’t you? The most powerful allies we have left are in Coruscant and they’ll be right under the Order’s thumb.” 

“Don’t be brash,” he snapped, the hint of dismissiveness flaring through her. “There has to be another way.”

“Then think of something better! Otherwise, I’m doing this and I need to know if you’re gonna help me or not.”

A heavy silence moved between them and Mara stared him down, readying herself for whatever argument she felt loomed on the horizon of his lips. 

_“Fuck,”_ he shrugged, folding his arms and falling back against the wall. “...If you _were_ to do this, then you need to be careful— _really._ _fucking._ careful. Timing will be everything. You need to go when the fewest people are on deck. Between second and third shift, ideally. And if we tightly coordinate it, I can intercept the surveillance feed on my side so there’s at least no record of you being there. You just need to figure out how to get on deck.”

“What about your code cylinders?”

“Mine can’t access the comms deck.”

“You’re a _loyalty officer_. Don’t you have clearance for everything?”

“No!” he scoffed. “They’re very careful about unnecessary access, you _know_ that.”

“But what about your investigations?” 

“If you’re under investigation, you’ll be summoned. _You_ need cylinders from a comms officer. Or someone with universal clearance like General Hux.”

Did Hux even have code cylinders? She had only ever seen him use one for the turbolift up to the throne room. She remembered him pulling it out of an inner pocket, which made the prospect of nicking one even more remote. It wasn’t like Mitaka who wore them on the lapels of his—

 _“Mitaka...”_ she whispered, more to herself than Le Hivre.

“That squirrely lieutenant? What about him?”

“I doubt I could get the General’s cylinders, but maybe the next best thing…”

“Which is?”

“Emergency access,” she answered, eyes sparking, the gears clearly spinning behind them. “Mitaka has it. That’s how he got me off the _Finalizer_. He told me has some special clearance as Hux’s adjutant.”

“Fine,” Le Hivre relented. He looks as if he may still try to persuade her against the idea, but he doesn’t. He just shrugs, chin dipping and peering down his nose at her. “But how are you going to get it from him?”

“You just let me worry about that…”

**. . .**

The next evening, Mara is sitting in her and Le Hivre’s booth in the back of the officer’s lounge, drinking a Bespin Breeze and forcing herself not to down it in one gulp. Normally she wouldn’t order ahead, but if she’s going to pull this off, she figured a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. Or it would at least help numb her nerves, if nothing else. 

She had sent a message to Mitaka that morning, inviting him to drinks and the response was near instant. Clearly, looking desperate wasn’t a concern, though it is curious that he’s running late...

_“Hey!”_

The thumping bass masks almost everything in the lounge and she’s still consulting her drink when a presence snaps her from its depths. It’s the Lieutenant and the way he’s smiling down at her, so openly and unabashedly, reveals how obviously thrilled he is to see her. She forces a smile back but fears it looks as stiff as it feels. 

“Hello!” She chirped, voice trilling unnaturally, eyes forcing contact. She sounded enthusiastic. _Too_ enthusiastic to her own ears, but she can tell by the pleased glint in his eyes that he’s never spared a single thought for her sincerity. Her gaze swept over him, falling from his face, plastered in a dopey grin, down to the place where his code cylinders should be. 

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

He’s not wearing them. Or his uniform. Her mind races and she catches herself from sinking back into the booth. A thousand panicked thoughts collapse into one awkward sentence. 

“You’re out of...uniform.”

It should have been a question but it came out more like a blunt observation, sounding so horribly bizarre that any normal, non-lovesick sap would have balked at it. But luckily for her, Lieutenant Mitaka is none of those things. 

“I’m off duty…” He’s still smiling but it's beginning to melt into a stiff grimace and Mara knows her face is twisting to hide her disappointment.

“But you—your _code cylinders_. Don’t you need them?”

“Not for the lounge,” he replied, sliding into the booth and flashing his officer’s wristcomm. “You can just use this. It’s way more convenient when you’re off-duty—and less to carry around.”

“Oh well,” she grinned, gesturing to her uniform and trying to suppress the mounting exasperation that surely twitched at the corners of her face. “I guess I must look pretty stupid.” 

“No, no, no!” He assured her, eyes flashing in a hint of panic. “I don’t think most people know that! Not sure what that says about me,” he laughed nervously. 

Mara laughed too, but she's cringing on the inside. This was already going so terribly wrong. If he wasn’t wearing his code cylinders, that meant they were in his room and if they were in his room...then there was only _one_ way she was getting in there.

“So what did you want to see me about?” He settles into the banquette across from her, looking so unbelievably earnest that she could have blurted any number of unthinkable things and he would have all too willingly complied.

“Oh ah—no real reason...” Mara nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. “Just wanted to catch up. We hadn’t really hung out in a while—” She almost physically reeled at the words coming from her. _Hung out_ —really _? Is_ that _what we were doing?_ “...and just wanted to ah…to see you.”

Her chest twisted in anguish at the arc of surprise reflecting back, as if the idea of anyone wanting to see him was genuinely touching. Was everyone in the Order this lonely?

“You should get a drink!” she blurted, signaling to a waiter droid to keep them both from lingering on it any longer. But even after the droid left, Mara could feel the Lieutenant's searching gaze. The way he surveyed her lit a keen desperation, itching the back of her head and urging her to break it.

“Something on my face?” she joked, hands frozen in place where she had been absently stroking a lock of hair. Why didn’t she pull it back? That would have at least eliminated her ability to act on any one of her many nervous tics.

“Oh no! God no, I was just noticing your hair. It looks nice,” Mitaka muttered, “Never seen you wear it down.”

“Thanks,” she blushed, hand reflexively touching her neck and gaze avoiding his. “I wore it down a lot on Zeltros and since I’m off duty now, I just...I wanted to, I guess.”

The mention of Zeltros caught Mitaka’s ear and thankfully moved him away from the topic of her appearance. He asked her about the delegation and then an hour passed in the blink of an eye with Mara’s stories of her time on the resort world. The stories she _could_ tell him anyway: of the splendor of its palace, the exoticism of its people and especially the beauty of its beaches. His eyes lit up as she spoke and after a while they settled into easy company, a graveyard of empty glasses between them, and a small part of her wishing they really were just friends meeting up for drinks. Isn’t that what normal people did?

“You have such an exciting job...traveling and all...” Mitaka sighed and Mara caught a whiff of envy. 

_Not in the way you think,_ she inwardly scoffed.

He smiled then, the warmth of his eyes shining in the purple lights while using a cocktail straw to spear the fruit wheel at the bottom of his glass. “I’ve never even seen an ocean—well, never up close anyway.”

 _“Never?”_ Her brows knitted together, puzzled by that and suddenly hoping she hadn't made him self-conscious. “Don’t you get leave?”

“Yeah, but we’re never stationed anywhere good. And I was on Starkiller for a long time before...well, you know.”

“Yeah, well, it’s actually not—it’s honestly not _that_ exciting,” she quickly added. “Just a ton of water going back and forth. And the formal functions were _so_ boring. I was ready to gouge my own eyes out.” 

Why was she trying so hard?

“I hope I can see it someday,” he sighed and Mara sensed something deeper in the tenor of his voice. As if it wasn’t just a solemn wish to see the galaxy but something more than that, something more profound that a real friend, not someone just _pretending_ to be, would push him on until they found the real answer. 

But she was not a real friend—not tonight at least, and the conversation petered out from there. She took a sip of her drink to stall and looked at her chrono under the table. Second shift would end in four hours and her mind starts racing down every mental avenue for a transition, a way to progress things naturally to something more intimate, but nothing is coming to her. 

Throughout the evening, the music grew several notches and she inched closer to him so they could both hear until her nose nearly grazed his ear. A sigh escaped her, breath tickling his neck and she caught him stiffen at her fingers brushing his under the table. His eyes snapped in surprise, but they were wide and inviting and Mara tilted her chin, a suggestive look sliding out from under fanned lashes, hoping her message was received. 

_Fuck it, just go for unnatural._ Her arms snaked around him then, eyes closing and leaning into him, her lips finding his in the dark. It was dry and clumsy, but it didn’t matter. She needed to get it over with and knew Mitaka wouldn’t mind either way. The music pulsed in deep bass drops, vibrating everything; covering the sound of him groaning into her mouth but not the way his hands boldly traced the slope of her shoulder where one cupped her neck and the other stroked the crook of her chin in a way that seemed oddly gentle despite the urgency.

The kiss grew eager then and when she drew away he was panting in her ear. She heard _that_ clearly. His gaze held her and she recognized the longing in his eyes and felt assured this plan was well on its way. Now for the bait.

“Why don’t we go somewhere more quiet?” she suggests, forcing the words from her mouth because they sound so completely stupid on her tongue, like someone who has never uttered them before. And the truth is because she hasn’t and she hates herself for saying them even now.

But it’s worth it. Because his face opens up, wide brown eyes looking at her in pure adoration and her stomach lurches. “Yeah,” he answers almost breathlessly. “...alright.” 

“Do you know a place?” she dangled the words in front of him so blatantly that he had to be the most clueless man in the entire galaxy not to catch on.

“We could uhm…” his gaze darts nervously around the room, hand smoothing his hair back before landing on the phrase she almost supplied in the ensuing silence. “We could go to my room?”

“Perfect,” she smiled in relief, “C’mon Lieutenant,” she added, knowing he _liked_ the way she said his title as she pulled him from the booth, hoping her “enthusiasm” masked the anxiety beneath it.

Mitaka led her to the turbolifts, flashing his wristcomm up to the scanner where it automatically read the device’s pre-programmed level. The lift doors opened and Mara was thankful no one awaited them. She stood in silence, staring at the lights encasing them, mind wandering briefly to Hux who had clutched her against him in this very lift. Her sex clenched at the memory of it. Of his breath in her ear, his hardness pinned between her legs, helping her ride his thigh in a frenzied bid for friction. Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, doing all that she can to stop thinking about it.

She had almost forgotten the Lieutenant entirely until something brushed her hand. It was his fingers shyly threading through her own and she stared down at them with a measure of detached wonder, as if someone else's hand lay in his and she stifled the deep frown digging at her lips.

The lift dinged and he led her out into the hallway. Anyone who caught them hurrying through the halls hand-in-hand could have easily mistaken them for lovers on a late-night tryst. But luckily no one did, just nameless, faceless cleaning droids standing watch and waxing the floors as they walked past. 

Mitaka stopped abruptly, jerking Mara’s arm as she swung past. They had arrived, presumably, to his little box in the _Steadfast,_ looking as insignificant as all the other little boxes housing the little officers just as blank-faced as Mitaka who reported to bigger officers with bigger boxes. 

“You know uh…” he turned toward her suddenly, back against the door, gaze darting around her face while carefully avoiding her eyes. “I don’t really...I don’t usually do this.”

 _Sure,_ Mara thought dryly, suppressing an eye roll and finally asked for both their sakes’, “Do what?”

“Invite women—I mean, _anyone,_ really...here. I just don’t want you to think…”

His words trailed off and he looked... _nervous?_ He certainly wasn’t the Poe Dameron of the First Order, no doubt about that, but it suddenly struck her that maybe this really wasn’t a routine destination for any woman. Maybe she _was_ the only one.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, stroking his arm and feeling his tricep flex beneath the sleeve. She was almost home free now. She can’t let him back out. “I don’t normally do this either.”

And that’s all he needs for the tension to melt from his brow in a relieved sigh. As if he needed her to be as nervous as he was and he finally slipped a timid smile, eyes ducking her’s before the door slid open to his compartment.

The lights flashed to a full one hundred percent, their intensity waging a brutal assault on her eyes. Even the hallway lights automatically lowered in beta cycle but the overhead bulb of his room, naked and dousing everything in a sterile glare, threatened to destroy any hopes for ambience in a violent snap. Mara flinched and Mitaka cursed under his breath, frantically working the control panel to dim the light.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, taking her hand and inviting her inside. She glanced around, barely making out her surroundings in the darkened room until her eyes adjusted and she recognized furniture identical to her own: a solitary bed and a small wardrobe. And nothing else to hint at the person who lived inside of it. It was as neat as she imagined the domicile of Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka, top of his class, might be. And unlike her own room, nothing lay about, no clothes on the floor, sheets tucked neatly beneath the four corners of his bed with surgical precision. His academy instructors would be proud at least.

They both stood in the middle of his room as if waiting for something and she can hear him drawing a deep breath in the dark, “May I—

“Yes,” she cut him off, not even waiting to hear the question.

He’s on her then, hands grasping anywhere and everywhere, lips kissing her feverishly as if she might slip away given the chance. But she doesn’t move. Instead, her arms encircle his neck and she slows the pace, fingers carding his hair and nuzzling his neck. She feels strangely light-headed, as if she’s not really there, not really doing this, and instead watching it from far away. She imagines herself as an LO like Le Hivre, impassively viewing their embrace through a surveillance feed when a dull ache invades her chest. It’s uninvited and making her feel protective of him for reasons she can’t begin to untangle. 

He lets out a breath, slightly ragged, and she realizes his lips don’t burn her skin like the General’s or even Ren’s do. They’re strangely soft, ticklish almost, and she’s glad it’s near pitch dark so he can’t see her wince at his fumbling attempts at intimacy. 

For him, her embrace is a beacon chasing away the loneliness entrenched in devotion to a cause full of people who don’t care about him. And for her, it’s just a transaction. This is what she has to tell herself. That she doesn’t want to use him like this. That she’s not a monster, but she _has_ to do it—she doesn’t have a choice, so then why is it so excruciating? The questions are nothing but a ruse for herself. Mara knows the truth. She knows it’s because he very clearly cares about her even when she’s given him absolutely no reason to and all she can do is hate herself because maybe a little part of her cares about him too.

“Are you alright?” he asks, hands sliding up the sides of her body and she wonders how long she’s been lost in her own head.

“Yeah,” she answers quickly, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and then kisses him on the lips to further the lie. 

_Yes, just keep digging your own grave._

“Good,” he whispers against her mouth, his hands traveling up to her uniform collar and she’s reminded of all the times the General’s fingers unfastened her clothes with elegant dexterity. A sharp contrast to the way Mitaka’s scrabbling with the hidden hook-and-eyes. It brings a small smile to her lips despite herself and she pries him away to finish the job herself.

She’s stripped down to her underwear now and so is he as she leads him toward the bed where he follows her into it. He looks more boyish without clothes, if that’s even possible. His abdomen has little definition and he’s much shorter than Hux or Ren, much more accessible in his plainness. Though however he may look to her, the spark in his eyes says she’s anything _but_ plain to him as she reaches around to the enclosure on her bra, finally stripping it away, knowing at some point it would be strange not to.

Her breasts fall free and the way he’s looking at her can only be described as pure worship, as if he had come to kneel at the altar of her body. It’s a strange feeling, to be showered with such shameless awe. Hux and Ren certainly didn’t. Their gazes were always so feral, predatory even, as if she were something to be devoured, not revered.

“ _Stars,”_ he sighed, eyes sweeping over her body hungrily, breath hitching. “You’re beautiful.”

Something about him reminds her of Poe in that moment _._ And for a second she doesn’t know until her mind finally picks it from the air. It’s because he would say that. Not those words exactly but _that_ word. _Stars._ He said it whenever she did something silly or something he wants to be impressed by but doesn’t want to admit it. Or when he’s trying to be sarcastic but failing miserably. _Stars, are you gonna cry every time?_

“Why is your face—” Mitaka sits up, hovering over her and squinting in the dark. “Are you _crying?_ ”

Was she? Her hand comes up to touch her cheek and it feels wet on her fingertips.

“No,” she answers, but the lie is obvious to them both and one she can’t just cover with a kiss. 

“Yes you are! Oh god, what’s wrong?” His hands abandoned her breasts where she didn’t even feel them touching her to cup her face.

“I don’t know,” she answers, voice clouded and sounding so distant, like an echo, and for the first time that night, it isn’t a lie. “I’m sorry about…all of this.”

“Oh no! No, no, no—there’s nothing to be sorry about! We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do anything.” His arms scoop her up, pulling her against him on the bed, hand stroking her hair and the tears are clouding her eyes even more, reducing the room to a swirl of dark and distant light until they’re falling onto his shoulder. 

_You’ve fucked this all up_. It’s all she can think about. _He’s going to kick you out now and you’ve fucked up your only chance to make this right, you fucking idiot._

“I’m sorry.” She’s repeating it over and over like a chant and she knows Mitaka doesn’t understand, but she is sorry. Sorry about everything and most of all, sorry about this. Sorry about failing in every way possible and hurting him in the process. Was this what she thought being a spy was?

“I understand,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise I do.”

He doesn’t. She wants to scream at him— _don’t you get it?_ She wants to hate him for being so gentle and so clueless and for wanting her so badly. For letting her do this to him.

“I can just hold you...if you want,” he offers meekly.

She says nothing back and he does hold her for what feels like an eternity as they lay there together. It’s the worst kind of hell she can imagine, being held by someone who wants something that can never be returned and being so understanding about it on top of it all. It feels unbearable in the dark of his tiny room, nothing but the distant stars peeking through a microscopic viewport and the quiet hum of the _Steadfast_ around them.

His breath finally shallows and body slackens around her. He’s fallen asleep, she thinks, and she inches away, testing his reflexes to see if it's true. She does this gradually, checking the depth of his sleep while moving one leg first and then the other toward the edge of the bed until she’s halfway off. She slides slowly, so slowly, from between his arms until she’s standing and gathering up her clothes to redress. She’s gotten most of the hooks on her jacket closed when a sudden sigh escapes his stilled heap of limbs. She freezes but he doesn’t wake and instead rolls over, his pale back nearly glowing in the dark.

Mara lets out a small sigh of her own as she crosses the distance of his room in two strides. She might have been spiraling in her own head, but she hadn’t forgotten what brought her to this point. Leaving without those code cylinders wasn’t an option and she had a good idea of where they might be. 

She opens the wardrobe just enough to slip her hand inside, terrified that craning it further risks waking him with its creaking effort. She blindly grasps inside it, looking for a small shelf she knows exists. Finally, her hand catches on it. Her fingers wrap around one of the cylindrical casings sitting there and a wave of relief washes through her at the weight of it in her hand. _Oh thank the Maker. Thank you._

Mara clips the cylinder to the waistband of her trousers, tucking it beneath her jacket’s hem, knowing that if he wakes now at least she will only be guilty of slipping out rather than stealing. She begins to leave but something stops her and instead she finds herself approaching the sleeping Lieutenant. She can’t see his face as his body is now turned to the wall, but she reaches out, fingers ghosting his temple. His skin feels cold. She picks up the blanket folded at the foot of his bed, draping it over his sleeping form and when she leans down, it’s to place a small, soft kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight,” she whispers before slipping away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not set out to write such a feels-heavy chapter but something about Mitaka just brings out the inner conflict in my writing of Mara. Another unexpected side effect: that one undergrad course in astronomy is finally seeing some dividends, so there's that.
> 
> Anyway, I'll see you next week where we'll see what happens as Mara enacts this desperate plan now that she's crossed the first hurdle.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we reach a turning point.

XXIII.

The door to Mitaka’s room swishes closed. He is safely tucked away in his bed, his code cylinder hidden in Mara’s clothes and everything that occurred now locked away in a compartment she resolves to never open again. She’s desperate to put distance between herself and the Mara in that room. The manipulative, loose, lying Mara. She is not her, but a stranger looking and acting and speaking like her. An effigy she can burn. That Mara would do what it took to survive. This Mara will do what it takes to ensure the Resistance survives. Because it _will_ survive, with or without her.

Her eyes sting and she rubs them with the heel of her hand, glad that she’s alone—or as alone as one _can_ be on a ship covered in mechanical eyes and ears. Her gaze flicks to the ceiling, knowing Le Hivre is up there, all present and all knowing, likely observing her from his own console as she navigates the glossy tunnels of the _Steadfast._ It should comfort her, knowing he was there watching over her, but it doesn’t.

She moved toward the turbolifts, past the corps of sleepy droids, servomotors whirring as they conquered a queue of never-ending chores. At the end of this hallway is a lobby where she waits on the lift that will carry her to the comms deck. 

The lights suddenly dim further and without checking her chrono, she knows what time it is. After months aboard the _Finalizer_ she became accustomed to the atmospheric changes of each cycle. Why they even bothered trying to simulate an organic environment is anyone’s guess. She assumes some internal research found it optimized biological rhythms or some such nonsense. To Mara, it only further emphasizes its artifice, but regardless of the reason, she knows the subtle shift signals the last approaching cycle of the day: gamma. 

The lift doors open. She holds her breath, but no one’s there so she slips inside. Her muscles quiver as she struggles to line up the code cylinder with the socket. Its metal tip clatters against the open port until her other hand helps slide it into place. The port glows white, signaling the connection, but she needs it to go green. She enters the comm deck number. Level eighty-five. This should take nanoseconds but it feels like ages as the discs and sliders spin around the cylinder, reading its data chip, checking clearances and deciding whether to accept it or not.

_C’mon..._

The white flips green and an exhale escapes through her nose. The doors close, the metal tube hissing as it's magnetically pulled through the ship’s many levels, but then, much too soon, she can feel it slowing to a stop. Her neck snaps up to see a screen flash the number forty-two overhead. Before she can register much more, the doors open and an officer steps into the lift. His sleeve indicates a Lieutenant and she suddenly remembered a second too late that protocol required a salute. She offered it quickly and half-heartedly. He glances at her with a broad, doughy face where scorn sinks into his thick lips.

The Lieutenant turns around and the lift starts but almost immediately slows again, stopping at level fifty-one _. How many more stops is this thing going to make?_ Mara suppresses an annoyed sigh as another older officer boards the lift, a captain by the look of it. He appeared to be close to Le Hivre’s age but not as slim or polished and his eyes are nearly hidden by heavily-folded lids. He looks familiar and Mara’s fairly certain she’s seen him somewhere before. 

“Shakel—haven’t seen you in a while!” the Captain says to the dour Lieutenant.

“Just returned from deployment, sir,” he grumbled.

“You’re with the 709th?”

“Yes sir—

“You were _on Batuu_ , weren’t you?” the Captain asked, the word ‘Batuu’ dropping into a low, anxious whisper. “Dreadful what happened there. I read the report.”

Mara’s ears perked but her eyes stayed trained on the lift console as ten more floors ticked by. She knew very little of Batuu except that it had an outpost called Black Spire. It’s one of the few major trading posts in the Outer Rim and a lot of merchants traded between there and her own outpost on New Coronet. That was where she had met her fair share of BSO merchants. It was the last stop before Wild Space and attracted a certain kind of person. ‘Rough-and-tumble’ was how they liked to be described and she could only imagine what kind of warm welcome they gave an outfit like the First Order.

“Did you hear about Lieutenant Kath?”

“He go off script again?” the Captain replied, sounding much too casual for whatever ‘off script’ meant. “He’s always been a little...overzealous.”

 _“No,_ much worse, I’m afraid,” Shakel muttered under his breath. “We were searching for that spy—the one they call Starling—

“Did you find him?”

“Intel believes it’s a _her,_ sir,” he chimed in, the admission bringing a small smile to Mara’s face. “Unfortunately she slipped through our fingers. But as we were leaving, something happened and the transport Lieutenant Kath was on blew.”

“They bombed it?”

“No! Another suicide attack, we think.”

The Captain flinched, letting out a huff of air. 

“Rebel scum,” he snarled. “They don’t even respect their own lives.”

“The worst part is...there’s rumors CD might have been involved.”

 _“Cardinal?”_ the Captain hissed. 

“I know,” the Lieutenant added. “It would be terrible for morale if that spread, so keep it under your hat for now.”

Cardinal? What did that even mean? Mara made a mental note to ask Le Hivre the next time they saw each other. If anyone would know who or what Cardinal was and why it should be a secret, the Colonel surely would. 

The lift dinged and the doors opened. It was her stop. She gave a quick nod to her “superiors” and stepped out of the lift, glad to be rid of them. Now for the hard part. 

She was deposited into another lobby and a long hallway stretched out before her with blast doors at the end of it. She assumed the comms station lay beyond those doors. Her suspicions were confirmed when they parted as an officer walked out and she glimpsed the rows of consoles inside.

_Just act confident and look like you know where you’re going._

She passed the outgoing officer, saluting him as she entered. He looked puzzled, as if realizing for a split second that he didn’t recognize her. Rather than acknowledge his questioning look, she hurried through the blast doors and hoped to the Maker he was too tired post-shift to bother following up.

As Le Hivre suggested, the deck was still in a state of transition between beta and gamma cycle. Only a handful of officers remained as they swapped with their third shift counterparts. She dared not spend a second looking around and instead dropped down into the nearest empty console. The screen flickered to life but the terminals flashing up in front of her were unreadable. None of it looked like the system used by ground control…

Mara desperately peered around at the other officers lingering by their own consoles and spotted one who looked friendly enough. This was probably a _horrible_ idea but she had a short window before the shift turned over completely and even more people were streaming in by the minute, so it was a risk she took willingly.

“Excuse me,” she whispered over at a young, blonde man, a petty officer like herself, who looked as if he was presently staring through his screen. She waited a moment, but he didn’t stir. Did he seriously not hear her or was he just rude? It didn’t matter she soon decided, rising to stand and stepping toward him. _“Excuse me.”_

The officer jumped, finally looking up at her. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, I feel _so_ dumb,” Mara cracked a smile, eyes rolling in a show of self-conciousness and hoping it seemed genuine. “But I’m new here and was hoping you could help me out.”

The man sighed and despite the listless stretch of his lips, he rose from his chair. “Sure, what do you need?”

“I’m trying to pull up the Holonet Relay and was hoping you could help me find it,” she said, leading him over to her own console. 

“You don’t know how to access _the Holonet Relay?_ ” he balked, his skepticism making her cringe.

“No! It’s just—this system is a little different than what they had at the academy—

“Where was your academy?” he drawled, voice thick with sarcasm, _“The Unknowns?”_

 _Yeah, same one as Admiral Thrawn, you prick,_ she wanted to say but instead fought an eye roll and forced an affected tone shrill enough to grate her own ears. “I know it’s silly, but I was told to send this message—it’s my first day and I’d hate to screw it up!”

_Yes, just play the foolish girl who needs a competent man to show her what to do. They love that._

This man, it turns out, _didn’t_ love that as evidenced by the look of pure loathing he tossed her way after firing off the required line of code.

“Here,” he snarled, returning to his console without another word. She would be visibly annoyed if it weren’t for the fact that he had just played into her hands anyway. She pursed her lips smugly and without sparing him another thought, frantically typed a statement for the Holonet Press Wire, knowing that once it was posted it could never be contained. Every news outlet in the galaxy received wire alerts and even if they were skeptical, the mere allegation alone would be so wild they would _have_ to investigate. Especially if it came from the inside.

More third-shifters filter in and the room is beginning to fill up with new faces. Her fingertips are so riddled with nerves that they feel clumsy plunking against the keys. In the corner of her eye, she can see officers pairing with their assigned consoles, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the owner of _this_ console shows up. 

_Where is it?_

It’s eerily quiet in the room and she works faster now, looking for the send button among the many tabs and terminals in front of her. Her gaze flicks around the screen, but nothing seems to indicate a transmission step. Why wasn’t there an arrow or just a button labeled ‘send’? 

_Where’s the fucking button?!_

She almost says it aloud, but then catches petty Officer Prick turning to look at her and realizes that she _must_ have said it aloud because he’s staring at her unabashedly. 

His whole body twists and she realizes he wasn’t looking _at_ her it seems, but at something _behind_ her. Her skin starts prickling and it’s because everyone is looking at her now, not just him. She can feel the weight of their stares on her back. And something else. There’s movement in the blank console beside her. It’s a black mirror and looking into it is like watching two starships collide in slow motion and on some primal level her body knows what’s happening before it does. In the wide, glossy screen she can see herself staring blankly. And someone else is there, just over her shoulder. A broad, bulbous dome of betaplast, two unblinking eyes set inside of it.

“Freeze.” 

Her heart beats wildly in the dead silence, like a caged animal clawing its escape.

_No._

She falls forward, fingers pressing any keys they can find until hands, lightning quick, snatch her arms. They’re twisted behind her in a sickening crack as her head slams the keyboard. Gasps ring out and everyone stands up. The trooper presses down. With ears ringing, her cheek is crushed against the console and all she can see is the petty officer’s eyes struck with horror. She’s suddenly lifted up, chair crashing to the floor and that’s when she knows it’s not one but two Stormtroopers hauling her to her feet.

Her boots scrabble for purchase until they find it, launching from the floor and diving toward the console, but they’re stronger and she swings the other way. A metallic zing reaches her ears. It must be the stun cuffs clapping against her wrists, digging into her skin and putting an official end to all her struggles. Along with any chance of sending that message.

And probably the whole mission, she thinks as the bitter reality only begins to sink in, boots skidding the floor as they drag her backwards.

“You’re coming with us,” the Stormtrooper barks as if that point needed further clarification, but she’s not listening to him. All she can do is stare at the console shrinking away from her. So close, but not close enough. The message left up on the screen, unsent, taunting her as they pulled her away. The deck’s blast doors hiss and it sounds like derision in her ears. Like someone saying, _‘Oh, you actually_ thought _you were going to pull this off?’_

It was there. 

It was _right_ there. 

She just had to _fucking send it._

They trawl her down the hallway in a bruising grip. Other officers streaming from the lifts stand back, rooted to the spot, but she hardly notices because her mind, along with every cell in her body, is quaking in shock. Who even knew she was there? Was it that officer? The one who noticed her coming in? Did _he_ report a trespasser to security? Or maybe the petty officer? No, he looked as stunned as she did.

The troopers pushed her into the turbolift, her body careening in a mass of limbs against the back wall. Something slips from her jacket, rolling down the slope of her leg until it hits the ground and scuttles across the tiles in a silver gleam. It’s the code cylinder, rolling away from her and the sight of it catches her breath.

_Mitaka?_

Did _he_ do it? Did he wake up and report it missing? Did security track her with it? Is _that_ how they found her? She couldn’t blunt the resentment burning inside. To go this long and get this far only to have it unravel under her feet because of a missing _code cylinder_ and the unerring obedience of the Lieutenant who owned it. The very Lieutenant who was almost like a friend.

Her throat is wrapped in cold fear but her collar is soaking in sweat. The lift dings and they don’t even bother picking up the fallen cylinder. They leave it there instead, dragging her out into a hallway that’s much longer and busier than the comms deck.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” the trooper grumbled back. 

The level they shoved her through now looked like an administrative wing judging by the flurry of petty officers trailing Generals and Colonels who passed by. Some of them cast curious glances at her escort but no one stopped to question it.

The troopers halt at the end of the hallway, next to a mini turbo lift and Mara wonders if it goes to the bridge. Wherever she is, the bridge is clearly not where she’s going, because they pause in front of a single, unassuming door where one of them presses a button similar to the one outside Hux’s personal quarters. Is that where they were taking her—straight to Hux?

The door swishes open and it’s clearly a personal office, but the General sitting behind the giant durasteel desk is neither young nor red-headed. No, the General surveying her now is old, gray, heavily creased and no doubt so very pleased to see her clapped in cuffs.

General Enric Pryde beckons her escort forward. 

“Please sit down,” he smirks and despite his severe countenance even Mara picks up on a hint of delight.

The Stormtroopers obey, throwing her into a chair across from him, the force of it practically knocking her to the floor.

“Was that necessary?” she snapped, glaring at the trooper hovering over her.

“And now her true colors are revealed,” the General cooed in amusement. “I’ve always thought you were such a docile little pet for General Hux but I see you have a spark hidden underneath.” Pryde looks up to his faithful cronies and addresses them. “You may leave us.”

The pair stomp out, but he’s not looking at them. His cold, blue eyes rake over her in a penetrating stare and to her credit, she doesn’t flinch. She refuses to be cowed by him now.

“Do you know what I loathe?” Pryde asks, wrinkly fingers steepling beneath his chin.

A great many things, Mara assumes, but she’s sure he’ll educate her either way.

“Loose ends.” 

“Is that what I am...sir?” Her eyes flash and she shifts in her seat to be as comfortable as one can be in stun cuffs.

“Do you know why you’re here Officer Tallion?”

Of course she knows, she was caught trespassing on a restricted area with someone else’s code cylinder. Innocence was going to be a hard sell but maybe—

“Or should I say _Lieutenant?”_

Mara froze, her mind reeling blank, staring at him. Knowing that no matter what she said now, he _knew._ He knew the truth.

“That’s your rank, isn’t it?” he asked, the corner of his lips fighting the smile that pulled there.

“...No—I...I don’t understand you, sir.”

“You will. You see, I was suspicious of you from the moment we met. General Hux isn’t very observant, I fear. Or perhaps more accurately, his ability to see what’s so obvious has been…” he shot her an exacting look, “...hindered.”

“So I pulled your file and I couldn’t help but notice that you only recently joined us. And you’re working directly with a General. One that’s conveniently close to the Supreme Leader. And all of it left me wondering…” His words trailed and he stared out at the massive viewport in his office. “Where did you _come_ from? I had a hunch—call it intuition. So I contacted one of our own agents in the field. And wonders never cease! As it turns out, there _was_ a controller. Reported missing after the D’Qar evacuation and it’s rumored that she had a strong resemblance...to you.”

“Your agent must be mistaken,” her voice is surprisingly even despite the shake in her hands hidden by the stun cuffs.

“I don’t think so.” 

“You can’t prove anything.”

“Her name was Mara Tallion.”

_Oh fuck._

“And if that’s not a fantastical coincidence, _why,_ here you are! Caught in the act. Trespassing on our comms deck and trying to use the relay system…now why would you be doing that?”

Pryde pressed a button on his desk and in a split second the two Stormtroopers returned, grabbing her by both arms. 

“You’re under arrest for espionage, Lieutenant Mara Tallion of the Galactic Resistance.”

“Take this rebel scum to the brig,” he instructed his foot soldiers and then turned to address her.

“You’ll see how the Order treats spies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well dear readers, there we have it. The ruse is officially up and we're closing out 'Act 1'. So the only question left is: _now what?_ Next chapter will see the return of Hux and Ren so...get ready. Also a few hints dropped in here for the future but I won't point them out so as not to spoil anything!
> 
> And finally, thank you if you have subscribed, commented, bookmarked or kudo'd. Before this, I was purely a reader on AO3 and hadn't realized how exciting they can be to receive, so I try to be more consistent about doing this for other works I love as I know it really is the fuel for writing some days. They're all greatly appreciated, but of course, not required. 😊


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually do an A/N up front, but I want to provide a warning about content. If any sort of violence is triggering for you, then I suggest you skip to about halfway. Nothing too graphic, so my hope is that you won't skip the beginning because it _is_ purposeful, but I feel it's important to warn you either way.

XXIV.

No one can help her now. Not even a Colonel of the Security Bureau like Orman Le Hivre with all his contacts and cunning and practiced sleight of hand. All her mentor can do at this point is stand back and watch helplessly from a console somewhere because she is a prisoner of the First Order and a known spy. And if General Hux didn’t know by now he would soon enough.

They will torture her. That is for certain—maybe the only thing that _is_ certain. But the one benefit of being away from the Resistance for months on end is that she truly knows nothing. Not their location, not their plans, not their allies. They could do whatever they wanted: probe her mind, starve her, rip her limb from limb, and at the end of it all she would give them nothing because she simply had nothing to give.

 _Nothing but your life_. And what was that even worth now?

The admission came to her bitterly, unleashing a sharp pulse through her temples. The only way she was leaving this room was in a body bag.

This could have happened at any time. She had always known that _,_ even before life behind enemy lines and yet, somehow, she never thought, never truly believed it _would_ happen. Sure, recruitment officers warned them of it and everyone, regardless of rank or role, underwent interrogation training though it was increasingly obvious how insufficient it was. Until the past year, Mara experienced most of the war from behind a holoscreen, charting squadrons of TIE fighters and X-Wings dancing in red and blue flight patterns across a map of the galaxy. And maybe that made things less real for her, but now the cool, steel manacles binding her ankles and wrists never felt _more_ real.

Maybe it was never a question of if, but _when_. The whole mission was like an endless dice roll, over and over again, picking up these little talismans of fate and casting them, waiting to see where they landed, so was it really any surprise that _this_ time they landed on snake eyes?

Her own tired eyes swept upward, studying her surroundings for the first time since they tossed her in here. The room’s reinforced framing suggested an interrogation cell in the detention center, and if memory served right, somewhere in the upper-mid section toward the bow. It almost brought a smile to her lips. Some of her earliest memories in the Resistance were giant blueprints of these warships projected across an entire wall. She often caught herself studying them, delighting in their seemingly infinite complexities, and that’s where she pictured herself now. A tiny dot trapped on a Resistance bunker wall. All those years spent staring at diagrams of these colossal daggers, hurtling through space, wondering what they looked like on the inside and not once had it occurred to her that it would be like this.

To her left, a panel of buttons and levers glowed maliciously, no doubt the controls to this contraption they had strapped her to, a series of restraints that only a ruthless, tactical mind of the First Order could have designed and she vaguely wondered if that mind belonged to Hux.

From the safety of a backroom, she had looked down on a cell just like this countless times. Was anyone looking down on now? Watching her in the chair, if it be called that, as she lay suspended above ground, stretched out at an angle that exposed her entire body. Molded steel supported her hips but provided nothing to rest her back or neck against with cuffs to restrain her. She rattled her limbs, testing the bonds, but it was no use. Like the panels of this cell, the binders were reinforced durasteel and they were not coming off unless her captors allowed it. 

_But maybe…_

She tried squeezing her fingers together in an attempt at narrowing her hand enough to slip it out. Gods, she was so _close_. She just needed some force. She jerked her shoulder, but the restraints remained obstinate, her efforts rewarded with a soaring pain in her forearm and a tingling in her wrist.

_“Fuck!”_

The expletive echoed in the dark, quickly fading until an eerie silence is all that’s left and she slumps against the anchored bonds once more.

Her head rolls to the right, staring into the shadows, expecting only darkness but finding a red, glowing bulb staring back. Her gaze narrows, and when she finally realizes what floats in the corner of the room, it’s her heart that plummets through her as if her entire being is one bottomless pit. 

She’s heard of these devices. Older Resistance officers who survived the Rebellion spoke of them—an Imperial torture droid so gruesome the New Republic officially had them banned. Until this moment it had been just that, a mythical specter of the not-so-distant past but she knew, unequivocally, that this droid was what awaited her in the dark.

The black orb hovered silently in the room like a miniature Death Star. The sharpened needle jutting from its polished face shot ice through her veins. Other implements protruded grotesquely from it: tongs shaped like a wishbone; some sort of turret for Force knows what and below it, probes and nozzles perched on each side.

It regards her coolly, clinically, as if she were the specimen and the droid a detached scientist assigned to her study. Only the red burn of its photoreceptor and the repulsorlifts maintaining buoyancy indicated life as it silently recorded her vitals while analyzing sensitive areas for later ‘investigation’. Unnerved by its presence, Mara wanted to look away but its silent horror kept drawing her in to the droid with which she would soon become intimately acquainted. 

The shrill cry of pressurized air signaled blast doors opening somewhere behind her and the sound of rubber soles clinking the grates came soon after. A human form slunk in her peripheral vision, the movement sending a shiver through her as they crept along the back wall.

A gloved hand emerged, slender and elegant, the leather groaning as it traced the side panel of her chair, pushing a button and stirring it to life. It whirred mechanically, rotating her ninety-degrees before stopping at an upright position as the figure, once cloaked in shadow, moved into the light. Mara had expected General Pryde or Hux or maybe even Le Hivre, sent by one of the two as a sick joke, but not this. Not a woman. 

She has dark skin or a deep tan, though it’s hard to tell which in the dim light and she approaches with a slow, graceful step that’s unnerving somehow. Mara glimpses more of her as she moves toward the control panel. She keys something into it and a compartment opens. Her Sergeant’s banded sleeve reaches inside and whatever she withdraws is hidden in her grip. She turns back around, heavy shadows ringing her features in an inhuman cast.

The droid floats to her side and her fingers unfurl, revealing what lay inside. It’s a syringe. The silver needle gleams beneath the spotlight where she mounts it to the droid’s domed shell. The Sergeant then pulls a vial from her pocket, puncturing the seal with its pointed tip. The plunger pulls back, the barrel filling with red fluid and the sight of it tightens every muscle in Mara’s body.

She wants to look brave, but her whimpers lay her fears bare. She sounds pathetic, even to her own ears, but as it draws near, her reflection slides across the black dome, eyes wide, mouth gaping in exaggerated horror. Her arms shake, but the woman is on her now, holding her down to expose the vein pulsing in the crook of her elbow.

 _“Shhhh…”_ She finally speaks in a low, calm murmur as the needle pricks Mara’s skin. “Can’t have you passing out, now can we?” The question, chilling and cryptic, leaves her reeling, but the syringe is already empty and Mara feels nothing.

 _“Get up,”_ the officer’s voice is sharp and commanding now, a far cry from before and to Mara’s astonishment, the cuffs fling open. 

She tries standing but her arms and legs feel heavy, like they’re weighted by anchors after a day—or maybe days—of stasis. Her limbs clumsily slide from the chair, weakened ankles rolling beneath her. She stumbles forward, hand clawing the chair and when she looks up, the Sergeant is standing there, watching her impassively, but Mara knows she’s laughing on the inside.

“This isn’t _technically_ protocol...” the officer purrs, a lopsided grin stretching her lips as she tosses her cap aside, “but I doubt anyone would feel too sorry for a filthy little spy.”

Without warning, the woman lurches. Mara tries to bolt, but her limbs are weak, her reflexes slow. She whips back around, catching the leather fist rearing back and that’s all she remembers before it sinks into her gut. It’s like a mallet, pounding her stomach, whipping the breath from her lungs. 

The ground races forward or maybe she’s falling toward it. Her equilibrium can’t tell the difference as her hands spring out to catch the grates. Collapsing, doubled over, she’s sucking in air like there will never be enough. The room is still spinning when a boot flies at her face, heel stamping her chin and the ceiling rushes overhead until her skull bashes the floor. 

Something warm pours down her chin. She swallows. It’s blood on her tongue and all she can do is writhe beneath the Sergeant’s towering form. Her eyes pop and it’s a knee that’s charging her, aiming for Mara’s stomach. Her legs swing wildly. One clips a booted calf and it’s enough to knock her off balance. The knee aimed at her stomach slips to the side, smashing Mara’s hand with a vile snap. She lets out a howl loud enough to burst an eardrum, but the Sergeant doesn’t let up. Her knee cap grinds the delicate bones like it’s a pestle and Mara’s palm is the mortar. 

It’s a blinding pain that bleaches her very existence, leaving only sound behind. The sound is shrieking and the shrieking is her own. It feels endless, only stopping when the woman shifts, knees moving up to bracket her ribcage, fingers flying to her neck. They tighten, leather digits digging into her windpipe and all she can think of is that she doesn’t want to die like this.

She flails, legs spasming uselessly as her vision stutters. Maybe she should just die. What did it matter? They’d kill her anyway. But before she can finish the thought, her sight fails and behind her eyes she’s somewhere else. Somewhere with blue skies. Wheat fields. A farm. _Their_ farm. On Brolsam. She can hardly remember what it looks like now, but this must be it, because her father is there, tanned skin, wrinkled face. He’s waiting for her. But it’s not his face anymore. It’s the Sergeant’s. Distorted. Snarling. And then she realizes, she _isn’t_ going to die like this. They’d kill her anyway, so what’s a little trouble on the way out?

The room is on fire and so is her broken hand but she can’t even feel it now. Just the sizzling heat coursing from arm to wrist as it raises. When her vision returns, it’s the Sergeant’s face above her, but it’s not snarling anymore. It’s ribboned in blood. She pulls her fist away, realizing with detached wonder it’s _her_ blood on Mara’s cracked knuckles. The grip is gone from her neck and the Sergeant is wincing over her, clutching her nose as blood spurts through the grates below.

_“ENOUGH!”_

A voice booms from behind them. The Sergeant is yanked by the collar, her body flying back as if a gust of wind violently sucked her away. Mara can finally breathe. Her vision clears and it’s General Hux looming over her, tall and commanding, pale face creased in suppressed fury. The air is charged with frightening electricity and the General’s gaze is like carbonite, freezing them in place.

His hand curls into a fist, leather squeaking and head snapping to the Sergeant, “Report to reconditioning. Immediately.”

“But, sir!”

His eyes flash and the sudden fear shooting her bloodied face is something to behold.

“Is that _disagreement_ I’m sensing?” His voice is low and dangerous, the same octave from Nal Hutta and Mara’s heart flutters unexpectedly. 

“N-No, sir,” she sputtered and sprung to her feet. 

“Then why are you still here?”

The Sergeant snatches her cap from the floor, scurrying like a frightened tooke and Mara watches her with some measure of satisfaction. Hux remains silent, as if waiting for her to finally leave and when the blast doors shut, the corner of his lips soften just a hair. 

Mara stares up at him from the floor, desperately wishing he would say something—anything, because it's too quiet now and no words are coming to her. But he doesn’t speak, as if he knows it’s the silence that tortures her and he refuses to grant even an ounce of relief. Instead, he steps forward and she flinches away. Maybe he came to finish the job? But to her amazement, he reaches down, not with a clenched fist, but an open palm. It’s a trap, or at least it _feels_ like one, but she silences the alarm bells anyway and folds the only hand that still works into his.

“That’s quite the hook for someone with a broken hand.”

“Can’t even feel it,” she mutters, trying to flex her fingers but they just flop uselessly beneath her wrist.

“You will,” he replies, but it’s not a threat. Just a matter of fact.

She stares down at the broken appendage, anything to avoid his eyes as they traverse her face. His gaze snags on the blood dripping from her busted lip and she catches the subtle hitch in his breath and the slight flare in his nostrils. His eyes glow as they settle on the hot liquid and she can feel the heat of his breath on her neck. Hands glide along her arms, all the way up to her shoulders, finally coming to rest on her face. The leather is cool and shockingly pleasant on her cheeks as he forces her to look him in the eye and all she can see is desire where rage burned moments before. 

He bends down. She feels weak in his arms, her body welcoming the touch that’s already tamed her so well. His tongue traces her lower lip, catching the blood there, swiping it away. It makes her shiver and she leans in, mouth inviting him inside, but the sudden _click_ pulls them both away. 

His gaze drops. A wry smile touches his lips and it’s not what she expected. His hands then retract from her face, all too calmly, to hold them up in a show of surrender. 

“Well, then,” he breathes in amusement at the pistol no longer holstered to his side but trained on his chest. “Think it through, kitten—

“ _Don’t_ call me that!” she spat, licking her lips where the kiss still lingered.

“Why? Because it reminds you of everything we’ve shared?” He’s taunting her. She knows it, but then his voice lowers to a soft rumble. “Everything you’ve _enjoyed._ ”

“Shut up!” She’s never spoken to him like this, wild with anger. It’s liberating and terrifying and thrilling all at once, like falling from a great height without fearing the ground.

“So this is your plan? Shoot the leader of the First Order’s combined forces and then make it out of here alive?”

“No,” she admits, her resolve firm even as the pistol falters. “But then neither will you.” 

“And then what? We’re both dead and there’s fifty other Generals salivating over that very scenario. The demesne is reset. Your sacrifice is meaningless and the Resistance is no closer to victory than they ever were.” His tone is irritatingly smug and Mara needs even fewer reasons to pull the trigger. “Besides,” he purrs, moving a half step forward. “ _You_ don’t want that.”

“Don’t tell me what I want.” She brandishes the pistol again and he freezes this time.

“You want me dead because it’s the only way to absolve yourself of the guilt—

 _“NO!”_ She bellows, voice erupting in a thunderous roar, but he doesn’t stop. He’s saying the words, but it’s her thoughts on his lips as if he’s plucked them from between her ears and she’ll do anything to stop him, to _make_ him stop and that’s when her arm drops to his knee, finger rolling the trigger, anticipating the flash as it fires. But it’s an empty click. No bolts charge the barrel and when she looks up, his eyes spark with divine relish. 

“Should have aimed for the heart.” A smirk plays on his lips. He drops his hands, and with it, the charade as the pistol slides from her grip. “It was never going to work anyway,” he added simply, stepping back and raising the pistol towards her head. Her arms fly up, they’re halfway to her face when he aims at the floor, bolt striking the grates beneath her. “Because it’s fingerprinted.” 

“Now,” Hux said, tone clipped dismissively as if the whole episode were mere child’s play. “I came here to speak to you—

“I’m not giving you anything. My name is Mara Tallion and—

 _“I know,”_ he cut in, eyes rolling. “‘The Resistance will not be intimidated’ and all the rest. Name, rank, serial number—correct? Allow me.Mara Tallion, Lieutenant of the Resistance Ground Control—

“Pryde could’ve told you that.”

“—Serial number 54083.”

Mara froze, eyes fixed and the look blanketing her face told General Hux all he needed to know. Any rank and file could have figured out her name and unit. That was easy. But her _serial number..._ She had never said it aloud before—to her friends, to her squadron, to _anyone_. Hell, few people in the Resistance had any way of knowing it to begin with. It was restricted, only to be revealed in a situation like this and only someone very high up in the ranks would know to whom it belonged. Someone like Leia.

“How did you know that?” 

The question comes in a single, rushed breath and she swallows down the bile bubbling in her throat.

 _"Oh Mara,”_ he nodded, her name laced in pity. “Your fate was sealed the moment you set foot on my ship."

"What are you talking about?" 

"The Resistance sold you out.”

“No. _Le Hivre_ —

"Is loyal to me.”

No. Le Hivre was loyal to the Resistance. Hux was lying. Just like he lied about shah-tezh and about Progga. Just like he lied about everything from the very moment she met him.

“Stop it—just STOP!—

"It’s the truth,” Hux countered, voice even and calm by contrast as he stepped closer and she stepped back. “The people you’re protecting sent you here to die—

"That’s not true!” she snapped, mind racing. “And even if it was—even if Le Hivre _is_ the one who turned me in, he’s just one traitor!"

"And yet it only _takes_ one, doesn’t it?” Hux ground the words through clenched teeth. “FN-2187 taught us that invaluable lesson."

"If you knew then why didn't you just kill me a long time ago?"

"Because _I’m_ the one who set you up. I could have easily used a protocol droid—you said it yourself. Perhaps it was a gamble on my part, but I needed an excuse to bring one of you in.”

“And Le Hivre helped you…” Her voice is flat, devoid of emotion as if anything beyond pure shock is too much.

“Because he’s a double agent.”

“Then what did you need me for?”

His head dips, catching the confused glint in her eyes.

“ _You_ were the answer to an important question. You see, I never needed an interpreter. I needed bait. Something to attract Organa’s attention, because I’ve long thought she suspected Le Hivre wasn’t loyal. But the only way to test that theory was to set a trap and see if she pounced.”

And she did. Mara knew the rest. Leia saw the opportunity to send someone new—someone she could trust. Her existence not only proved Hux right, but confirmed Le Hivre was no longer viable as a means for sabotage. But by that point it didn’t even matter because he had _her._

“And I must say it worked spectacularly,” he said, a grin twisting his lips. “They really fell for those fake plans, didn’t they? Walked right into our hands.”

The _Supremacy_ plans. That’s why Le Hivre blew up when she speculated about a compromised spy. He wasn’t mad because she was wrong. He was mad because she was _right._

“No…” The protest came out like a whine, weaker this time, as if she finally began to see how his version of events might be true. “She couldn’t have known. Leia wouldn’t send me here _knowing_ he was compromised and could…”

Her mind followed a train of thought her mouth didn’t dare finish, but it didn’t matter, because Hux would finish it for her. 

“Reveal you at any time? Don’t be so naive. It was a risk and clearly Organa thought it one worth taking. So it was all really just a delicate game for us...and for her.”

“No!” she growls, hand balled into a fist, fingernails digging crescents into her palm. “You’ve lied about everything so why would I believe you now?”

“I’ll prove it to you,” Hux answered all too casually. “Go ahead, take the pill.”

Her head snaps, “What pill?”

“You know what pill. The red one. In your pocket.”

“Why?”

“It’s fake,” he answers flatly. 

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead touches her chest, fingers finding the small bump in her breast pocket. It couldn’t be a fake. 

“Le Hivre gave you a fake suicide pill because there was _never_ going to be a way out for you.”

 _“No_ —none of that’s true—

“Then what is there to lose?” Hux hissed, stepping closer until her back found the wall with a hollow thump. “If I’m wrong then you die a _hero_ to the Resistance,” he drawled, a sarcastic lilt to the charge, “And if I’m right then you’ll know the truth.”

Mara looks up, finally meeting the sadistic gleam lighting his eyes and it's like a spotlight on her.

“No.”

He lets out an irritable shrug, fingers flying to her jacket and opening the hidden hooks so deftly she doesn’t even fight him.

“Because you’re scared I'm wrong or because you’re scared I’m right?”

Mara didn’t answer because she couldn’t. She should want to know. She should _want_ to die for the Resistance and yet she was afraid of either outcome. 

“Yes, it’s best to never know for sure, isn’t it? So you can always take shelter in the lie...” he muttered, hand darting through the seams and retrieving the hidden pill. He held it out in his open palm. She looked down, the glossy capsule is candy red like a drop of blood against his black, leather palm and for the first time she sees the logo stamped on the outside. A letter Z. For Zelcorp. _Fucking Zelcorp._

“Fine,” he barked, fingers closing around it, popping it into his mouth— _No!_ Mara reaches up but he makes a show of cracking it on his teeth.

His mouth closes, swallowing the remains but he’s perfectly still, no trace of pain apparent and it steals her breath away. She’s suddenly trembling. First on her lips and then everywhere else. It couldn’t be true and yet... _it was._ There really was nothing there, just like he said. And that’s all there is for Mara. That’s the last fragile thread keeping her in check. It was like all the doors closed at once and she was trapped on the inside of her own mind. She couldn’t move or speak and her eyes were like empty windows staring at Hux’s lips, the place where the pill had disappeared and with it, everything she thought was true.

And then her legs gave out and she was sliding down until she hit the ground, but it was like falling forever. Her arms felt weightless, numb as they wrapped around her knees and her fingertips felt nothing beneath them. All the wires are snapped and everything collapses around her in quiet clamor. Hux may be speaking. Maybe he’s saying her name but she hears nothing except a rushing sound, like water in her ears.

And then she does hear something. It’s a soft whisper. It’s Hux, lowered to her level, whispering in her ear. 

_“Come to me when you’re ready.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect all of no one to do this, but if you ever read this story again, hopefully you'd see some of Hux's more perplexing statements hinting at this plot throughout. It's even obliquely referenced in the opening paragraphs of this fic! This also puts Hux's surprise/fear when Ren reveals her as a "spy" in a different light--he was scared Ren had figured it all out.
> 
> Side note: I listen to a lot of music while writing to get in the right mood, so if dark, dramatic and vampy is your vibe too then please enjoy this companion playlist: [Imperium](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0nRYOQlJU79wnJyrGvAnYo?si=44b578d242ea495d)
> 
> And finally, as always, I love interacting with all of you in the comments, so please keep the observations, questions, jokes comin' and thank you for being a reader! 😊


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alliance of sorts.  
> (aka - why this story has a Kylux-lite tag)

XXV.

“Why give her a choice?” Ren drawled, leaning against the backroom wall. 

He hated these tiny, red rooms. They were just too small. Or he was too big. Either way, it felt like being stuffed in a poorly-ventilated closet. He could probably reach Hux’s arm from here, the one that’s cradling his elbow, forearm folded back, slender wrist tucked beneath his chin. Ren almost does it just to stop the man from doing that thing he hates. The thing he’s doing right now, stupidly grazing his gloved knuckles against his lips as he studies the scene below.

He must like this, being the silent voyeur. Ren liked it once too—in their shared fantasy—but this was a far cry from that. Much more tedium and much less fucking for his tastes. Passively watching from behind the glass made it feel cheap. Performative. And unlike Hux, Ren liked to get his hands a little dirty. 

“I’m not giving her a choice,” Hux said. “Just the illusion of one.” 

He says the last part as if he’s no longer speaking to Ren. As if it’s a reminder to himself and Ren can’t help but wonder what exactly _is_ on the General’s mind? He’s been eerily quiet and even the briefest of Force probes earned him an icy glare from Hux before his attention snapped back to the cell. 

_Damn._

He thought he was being more subtle than that.

Ren moves toward the one-way mirror, but his legs cover the distance in half a stride and he’s nearly brushing Hux’s shoulder as they stand adjacent. The General doesn’t even notice, or if he does, he refuses to acknowledge it. Instead, he’s fixed on the chair where Colonel Garmuth is interrogating his little pet. Or ex-pet, or whatever she is. He’s been at it for hours. Probing and poking her with nothing to show for it. But that’s to be expected. SB agents are useless, this one in particular. A shame Garmuth managed to slither out of the _Supremacy_ unscathed.

“What’re you looking for?” Ren asks, tone bordering impatient, but it’s not an answer he receives. It’s her voice filtering in through the room’s audio feed, mindlessly repeating some script. Her name is Mara Tallion. She knows nothing about Organa. She knows nothing about the Resistance. How could Hux stand listening to this non-stop? Especially when Ren could finish the job in an instant. It’s not like Hux was unaware of his particular affinity for truth finding.

“Nothing,” Hux finally answers. 

“Then what’s the point?”

 _And why is it so hot in here?_ he wonders, wiping a bead of sweat from the nape of his neck. 

“The point is to make her feel it. To come to terms with the betrayal. Simply telling her is not enough,” Hux replied and Ren caught the General’s eyes flicking dismissively in the mirror. “She needs to fully accept it.”

“Accept what? She’s a prisoner. She doesn’t need to accept anything—unless...” A smirk spreads Ren’s face and he can’t help nodding in amusement. _“Unbelievable.”_ For the first time, Hux is pulled away from the viewing box and Ren’s survey of him flickers with snide delight. “You want to keep her—don’t you? You want to keep your little ‘rebel scum’...Who _are_ you?”

The comment slingshots from his mouth. It sounds playful, almost suggestive in a way he didn’t intend.

Hux only scoffs as if a response is beneath him though Ren knows it isn’t. He’s struck a nerve. He can tell. It’s in the way Hux averts his gaze, mind whirring as it generates a range of answers, so many conjured and culled in an instant. He can practically sense him searching out the one that feels safest for Ren’s ear.

But then there’s something else. Something barely emanating from Hux who usually relegates his emotions to a locked box. But it’s not locked anymore, is it? The lid has opened, just a sliver, and whatever is trickling out of it surges in the undertow.

“It’s not what you think,” Hux replies and it’s his famous wit that’s noticeably absent.

“No. Really.” Ren is close enough to count the man’s golden eyelashes. “Why?”

Hux opens his mouth as if to speak, as if to lie, but then pauses because maybe the truth is just easier.

“Because we’re close, Ren.” His pale eyes spark and the Knight’s name sounds different than before. “We’re _so_ close.” They’re wide now. Excited or angry or aroused, Ren doesn’t know, but it’s their spark that sends a thrill rippling through him all the same. “I could see it in her eyes—when she learned the truth. I could see what she wanted, what she truly wants. We can break her—

“I think you already have,” Ren muttered, not noticing her voice had disappeared. The Colonel must have given up because she’s alone and huddled in the corner of her cell. 

“We can remake her,” Hux urges. 

“Into what?” 

“Whatever we want.” 

The General looks near breathless now and Ren’s biting the inside of his cheek and the response that comes out sounds oddly strangled. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

The words leave Ren’s lips but he’s the one who isn’t sure. He isn’t sure if he’s really speaking or just mumbling nonsense because Hux’s pupils are making it impossible to look away. They’re widening, darkening, opening up as if they’re ready to swallow him, slowly, and he can do nothing but stare back, captivated by his own downward slide into them.

“No,” Hux whispers, his Adam's apple delicately bobbing in his throat. “You don’t know what it’s like, to control someone like that, to control them completely.”

He’s never been this attuned to Hux before, but for the first time, Ren can feel him without even trying. He’s just there—in the room and all around him. And that locked box, the one that’s only cracked at hidden thoughts of _her,_ is more than unlocked. It’s more than barely open, it’s thrown open and everything’s pouring out of it now, all those hidden thoughts unmasked all at once and Ren is drowning in the deluge.

“I think I do,” he whispers back, fighting the urge to steady himself against the wall because he suddenly feels dizzy just looking at Hux’s lips. They’re shiny. Wet. He wants to run his thumb over them and see how soft he knows they are. His hand moves of its own accord but his fingers find the safety of the window sill instead.

“No, not your...mind control. That’s temporary, but this, this is different. It’s more than that. More permanent.”

Ren wishes he could step back, out of the room and out of Hux’s orbit, but he can’t. It’s a paradoxical pull that’s drawing him in and pushing him toward the one person he’s always despised.

“What’s happened to you?” the Knight murmurs, but it’s easily a question for either of them. “Zeltros?”

“Perhaps,” Hux replies, voice surprisingly soft before it turns razor-sharp. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought of it too.”

“Oh I have,” Ren breathes, the response a low growl with no attempt at disguise. “Everyday.” 

There’s a pause, full of jittery unease, and it feels like they’re on the precipice of something, both skirting the edge but wanting the other to jump. Ren’s heart beats raucously, hand sliding up the window sill until he’s half caging Hux in. He won’t jump—not first anyway. He won’t give Hux the satisfaction, but he will give him something else. 

An invitation: 

Jump together. 

_“Stop.”_

It’s Hux’s demeanor, suddenly keen and commanding, that snaps him back.

“Why?” Ren’s other hand braces the wall beside him until Hux is fully trapped against the viewing box and he can feel the man’s breath caressing his lips. “Because you’re afraid?”

But Ren can see he’s not afraid, he’s doused in want and the response that follows is a flimsy excuse.

“Because I haven’t the time to intimidate every officer watching this feed.”

Ren’s brow raises, hand reaching up, fingers curling the air and the security camera curls with it, collapsing in a tangle of wire and glass as if his own fist closed around it. 

“And you think I can’t problem solve.”

Ren doesn’t know what he expected, but the General looks different, like a cornered dog, mouth curled into a snarl, teeth peeking out. He wrenches the cowl at Ren’s neck, open palm landing in a slap that leaves the Knight frozen. The effect is instant. His pale cheek blooms an angry red and the sting that follows courses through him, down his chest and straight to his cock where it’s rushing with blood.

He stares at Hux for half a second. There’s a glint in his eyes. Hux knows what he’s doing, courting a certain kind of danger, but Ren doesn’t care. 

He pounces, flinging Hux to the glass where his head thumps against it, eyes lighting in shock and that alone is worth it, worth any humiliation Ren feels for initiating a kiss so violent on the General’s mouth that his teeth cut the inside of his lips. 

Hux gasps at the force of it, deep inhales hissing through his nose, but he doesn’t recoil. His hand raises and Ren nearly reels back, but it slides into his hair this time, grasping and twisting hard enough to draw a breathy groan. It only spurs the Knight on and he attacks with heightened ferocity, tongue darting out, teeth nipping at Hux’s pout. When he finally pulls away, a string of spit connects them at the lips and then he recognizes in those sea-glass eyes what must be reflecting in his own. 

The wordless erasure of all pretense. There’s no wine. No pheromones. No more excuses to cling to now, just their own needs out in the open, unvarnished.

Hux wipes the saliva coating his lips and places a hand on Ren’s shoulder. He presses down, but in a hesitant pause Ren’s obedience isn’t assured. He doesn’t have to submit. He’s stronger than the General, even without the Force, and could seize power at any time. Hux knows this. And yet, he kneels anyway, coming to rest eye-level with the flesh straining in Hux’s jodhpurs. Ren nuzzles it without thinking, losing himself in the musk of arousal until his head is yanked back in a vicious whiplash. 

Ren growls, but it’s a faint smirk that slides across Hux’s face. He removes his belt, it clatters to the floor and the touch that returns mimics his own from the day Snoke punished them both. It was such a small thing, smoothing his tousled, fiery locks back into place, but it spurred the most alluring effect: a delicate flush burned the General’s face and his eyes glowed in pure rage. Ren’s thought of it more times than he’d care to admit.

But the roles are reversed. He’s at the General’s mercy and the gaze searing him isn’t rage but need, and it’s Ren who needs this just as badly. He’s practically Force-willing Hux to hurry the fuck up, but he knows even a hint of eagerness will be repaid in langour and he’s slow enough as it is, dragging his zipper down in one long, lazy stroke. 

Ren dares to look up and that’s when he realizes this isn’t a slow tease, it’s real trepidation shining in his eyes, as if at any moment the spell might snap and they will forget, or ask themselves to forget this almost happened. Except that isn’t a choice anymore because Ren’s mouth is flooded and he’s aching like a baseless animal whose instincts have him clawing Hux’s trousers until they’re around his knees, leaving neither of them a reason to turn back now.

It’s a revelation and a relief for Ren who can’t look away. Hux’s cock is all tangled up in gray briefs, the fabric darkened and clinging obscenely to the wetted tip. That alone has him thrumming against his own pants, the folded cloth chafing his tender head as he leans in, nose pressing the fleshy ridge. He braces for the blow, but it’s a breathy sigh that escapes Hux and his eyes dim with lust when Ren’s tongue traces the clothed ridge, mouthing his length until it’s soaked in spit. It’s enough to make Hux desperate and Ren can’t help the grin flickering across his face as Hux pulls himself free.

Ren swallows. His mouth dries at the clear bead clinging to the pink, pulsing head. Ren swipes it away with his tongue. He moves to sit back on his heels, but it’s Hux who grabs the back of his neck and forces his full length past Ren’s swollen lips. 

He’s never done this before, never felt the hum of another man’s cock in his mouth. Even his Knights, the sick creatures that they are, would never get the privilege of seeing him like this. So degraded. And it’s that very thought, the way he must look on his knees, sucking off the future Emperor that twists his stomach in pleasure. It’s thrilling and intoxicating and making his fingers itch at the precum oozing out onto his damp thigh.

Ren goes deeper now, relishing the little gasps hitting his ears each time Hux taps the back of his throat. It’s that staccato beat driving his need for friction. He tries moving his hips, but there’s nothing to grind and even though Hux is the furthest thing from Force sensitive, it’s as if he can read Ren’s mind in that moment, because he suddenly takes over, holding the Knight’s head steady to fuck his gaping mouth.

Ren lets out a deep moan, mouth vibrating around the General and he’s free to touch the part of him weeping for attention. His hand searches out the sweltering flesh glued to his thigh and strokes it slowly, timing it with the thrusts on his tongue and it’s not long before he can feel Hux edging closer, through the Force or the way he’s twitching on his tongue, he isn’t sure, but it’s pushing his limits either way. He can’t look at anything. Just the back of his eyelids, because if he catches the General’s face now, he knows it’s over. And he doesn’t want it to be over. He wants to exist in this sweaty, messy fever dream for just a little while longer. 

But it’s not to be. Hux is gasping, loud, hips stuttering and it’s a raspy plea for Ren to look at him that leaves them both spiraling when their eyes meet. Hux’s eyes are black. Possessive. But it’s the General’s lips, blood red and parted, that finally drag him under. He’s coming, hard, jutting into his gloved fist, jerking as fast as he can until he ascends to some blissful place where his cock explodes in hot spurts, cum painting the insides of his clothes, pumping until every last drop is rolling down his thigh, seeping into his pant leg and some lewd part of him revels in the depravity of it.

Hux finishes too, rutting into a frenzy, but by this point Ren is just a soft, boneless vessel for him to unload into. Warm liquid shoots the back of his throat and he swallows it, lips pressing around him in the process, but nothing registers in the aftermath. Not the drenched tendrils clinging to Ren’s face. Not the way every ounce of energy effortlessly slips from his body. Not the long fingers carding his hair with a gentle touch he least expects.

**. . .**

Mara collapses in the corner of her cell. That SB officer, the one with the withered face and repetitive questions has just left and it’s been days, she thinks, since they dumped her in here but it feels like years without a way to gauge the passing time. And time is all she has now. It’s the _only_ thing she has and it’s a danger for an unsettled mind with no one to speak to except the two Stormtroopers who release her on scheduled bio breaks. But of course they’re not much for conversation.

And even if they were, the only conversation on her mind is the last thing Hux uttered before he pulled the entire world down around her and her two guards probably have just as many answers as she does.

_Come to me when you’re ready._

The words roll around her head endlessly. 

Ready for what?

It doesn’t matter, she thinks. Whatever Hux is offering, short of absolute freedom with no strings attached, is not an option. She should just rot here. Rot until she dies. She’s practically there already. It can’t be too much longer with how they’ve starved her, only bringing her watery, colorless gruel every other day. That’s why she’s so weak. That’s why she can’t think. Her will to survive is being whittled away from the inside out and it’s starting with her stomach. Fucking bastards. Maybe this is a fitting punishment for the galaxy’s worst spy: starving to death in a First Order prison cell. What a way to go.

And even if she was free, where would she go? Back to the Resistance? Could she ever look at them the same way? Look at Leia the same way? Knowing that she sent her to the lion’s den like a sacrificial lamb? 

_She may have sent you here, but you’re the one who fell for it._

The admission brings tears that she tries to suppress through lips pressed and blinking eyes. But it’s useless. Useless to feel sorry for herself now. It will be over soon. 

_Come to me when you’re ready._

And how would she do that anyway—come to him? 

She can’t just walk out...can she? She obviously hadn’t tried. She doesn’t even know if she can stand, let alone walk, because the mere thought of it, moving one foot in front of the other five feet across feels exhausting, but her gaze wanders to the door anway. Is it actually locked? Surely it is, she thinks, standing up, legs wobbly as they carry her to the door. By the time she reaches it, she’s already gasping, head spinning with the effort required just to get her there. Common sense says it’s locked, but she’s pressing the button anyway, wondering if that’s what Hux meant? How delirious was she? Thinking she could just leave at any time? 

It flashes red. Of course it does. The door remains shut, but then she sees another button next to it. It’s white and when she presses down, it buzzes, as if it’s an alert or a button that calls someone, but she can’t imagine who.

“Whaddya want, reb?”

The voice jolts her, freezing her to the spot. She didn’t expect anyone to answer, but the modulated sound on the other end clearly came from a Stormtrooper. Most likely one of the guards who until now have never said a word to her.

_Come to me when you’re ready._

“Speak up,” the voice barks.

It comes out in a rush. She hadn’t planned on saying anything because she hadn’t planned on anyone being there and suddenly the words she least expects shoot from her lips.

“I want to see the General.” She swallows, her voice is dry and the words cut like glass. “General Hux,” she clarifies.

There’s a silence. Were they just standing there stunned? Or did they even hear her? How many prisoners demanded to see their warden? Maybe they hadn’t heard her. 

“Let me see General Hux.” She insists, hoarse from repeating answers on loop, but she knows it’s loud enough for whoever is listening on the other end. 

“Let me—” but it’s laughing that finally cuts her off. A white hot anger boils under her skin at the sound of it and she presses the call button again until she’s pressing it continuously, over and over and over.

“Cut it out, reb!” The laughing stops and the voice snapping at her now sounds subtly annoyed.

“I can do this all day,” she growled, pressing the button even faster until it’s a drumroll of shrill beeps. _Or as long as my good hand lasts._

“Let me see him!” She starts screaming. 

“Just call the General,” one trooper shrugs. “If she wants to see ‘em, let ‘er see ‘em.”

“Me? _You_ call him! I’m not callin’ him.”

“Oh please, you owe me—remember?”

There’s a silence over the comm system and Mara wonders if one of them will eventually cave.

“Fine,” the other trooper sighs and there’s a pause as she imagines him raising his wristcomm. “uhm...General Hux, sir, this is FB-triple-oh-seven. Over.”

“What is it, triple-oh-seven?” Hux sounds as vexed as he usually does when any subordinate contacts him.

“Your prisoner, sir—uhm—prisoner number…”

“8721, yes, what does she want?” 

“She’s demanding to speak with you...sir?”

For a moment, no answer follows and Mara pictures the General on the other end, probably in his office, maybe with Mitaka, looking pristine and perfect when his voice rings out over the trooper’s wristcomm.

“Affirmative, triple-oh-seven. Prepare her for transport and await deck location coordinates. Over and out.”

Before Mara can scramble back from the prison door, it swishes open and her two jailers stand there, blasters at the ready, as if a half-starved woman deserved a bit of muscle. 

“C’mon scum,” the trooper spits as the other one claps her wrists back in cuffs. “You’re gettin’ your wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was a little late! I try to be consistent about updates but just needed a little more time... 
> 
> Similar to the last chapter, we've been building up to this for awhile too, maybe you caught all the signs? Though for anyone wondering, I should note that this doesn't signal a left turn straight into Kylux going forward, but as you've seen, this story is as much about Hux's complicated, evolving relationships with Mara as it is with Kylo. 
> 
> Next up, we'll finally see Hux's proposition.


End file.
